1963-08-09 - Fumbling the Nuclear Football
Summary: At President Kennedy's request, a SHIELD investigative team heads to California to investigate a missing nuclear weapon.
Related: Lethal Magnetism
Theme Song: None
amadeus darwin miles peggy sam 

Barely more than an hour ago, Peggy Carter personally fielded an emergency call from the very highest levels of the U.S. government. The level of secrecy was astounding: despite being the Director of SHIELD, having better security clearance than God himself, and being on the receiving end of a scrambled direct-line call from the White House, Carter couldn't get any details on the situation. She was able to learn the following things:

1. The crisis regards the U.S. nuclear arsenal and the U.S. Air Force.
2. The emergency is of an unprecedented and utterly secret nature.
3. The President has personally asked that she assemble a SHIELD investigative team with all possible haste.

So it is that a gathering of SHIELD agents, hand-selected by the director, found themselves crowded onto a high-speed transport jet bound for California. Just as unusually, several people aboard aren't SHIELD agents at all. Test pilot Sam Wilson, commiserating with the Director, floated the suggestion that a few members of the unusual task force he's to join help answer the call. Whether because she liked the idea, because she was annoyed at the White House's stonewalling, or some other reason she decided was best kept to herself, the Director agreed.

Now, the jet has landed, and the SHIELD team debarks onto the runway at Travis Air Force Base. A detachment of military bigwigs — not aides, either: the top brass themselves — are waiting for them as they climb down the stairs.

"Director Carter," greets a gray-templed man in an Army uniform, his hair stuck down in a neat wave and his breast covered in enough colorful strips to stop a bullet on its own. It's General Maxwell Taylor, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. "Glad you could make it. Very, very glad."

Other than his words, the reception could be a lot warmer. Military police are stationed all around, several eying the newcomers suspiciously. Men in black suits stand at more discreet distances, balancing total alertness with total disinterest in anything specific. Taylor himself casts a jaundiced eye over the motley group: blacks, mutants, and asians, all headed up by a woman. It's not the sort of team the military is accustomed to fielding. Still, the man is immaculately polite as he beckons the group toward a large hangar across the airstrip.

"We've had… a theft," he says, casting a vicious glare at a silver-haired man in a blue uniform — General Curtis LeMay, head of the Air Force.


Well, it was this level of emergency which SHIELD was built to fight, even if she's really mishmashed this team together. There is, no doubt, reasons for every choice she has made. The fact that not a single person on this team is a white, normal skin toned male might be a part of it. The defiance in her eyes, already, just DARES the General or others to say a word. This was her team. They were all in proper dress, ready to work. Peggy's high heels click hard upon the floor as she comes over to them.

"..General… s." Peggy adds the 's', as they approach the head of the airforce. She gives them both sharp nods. "I debriefed my team as best possible, but considering you weren't very forth coming on the phone, I'd like a full report now before I send my agents on a wild goose hunt. What *exactly* has been stolen?"


Armando Munoz was rather confused by the whole thing, but he had agreed to join these 'Avengers' when approached by Captain America himself. He wanted to do good for mutants- and do good for his country. He wears whatever uniform was appropriate and handed to him. Surely there was a uniform.

On the plane, he's quiet. Listening more than speaking- his pale white eyes featureless. Its like he's staring straight ahead, even as he takes a moment to shift his eyes to figure out who all the players of this unusual situation is. He's not even sure why he was told to come along- he figures there must be some level of danger to bring someone like him.

When he leaves the plane he stands back, quiet. Listening to general as he speaks, and Peggy as she steps forward, he just keeps back and keeps his mouth shut.


If his calculations are correct, Amadeus isn't going to find jack in the way of his precious junk food landing at a military base. Fortunately enough, he's got a stock of wrapped baked goods, candy bars, and assortment of other things he keeps in his bag. That bag. The one that may well give a person diabetes just by looking at it. A gun that may or may not have been issued to him is left behind in favor of storage space for more assorted snacks. The rather full-looking rucksack is a daunting thing to behold.

Some poor agent has also been stuck with puppy-sitting for this mission as Cho has wisely decided not to take his coyote companion on his first official mission. The mesh of weird sciency wiring has been transferred to a new suit without pinstripes, at least and he does look like a proper agent…if not a bit on the young side for it.

Indeed, comparitively, Amadeus Cho is a diminutive figure in comparison to his SHIELD comrades. For the trip, he's actually surprisingly quiet. When they do finally land though, he reagards the General discerningly in order to try to pick up any tells from the man or oddities. For the time being he's good and doesn't speak up, letting Peggy handle the General while he observes.


Miles knows the looks he's getting all too well. Every day of his life has been a fight to have the same voice as somebody who had a lighter skin tone than him, to prove that he was no less a human being than anybody else. He doesn't speak, but he doesn't hide away either. As he follows the Director's lead he keeps his back straight, suit and tie worn proudly. He's an Agent of SHIELD, not some hoodlum they picked up off the street.


Given the size of the hangar building the group is led up to, the simple double-door entrance is almost humorously small and plain; it wouldn't look out of place in a high school gymnasium. One of LeMay's people — useful, how they're all in color-coded shirts — rushes ahead to get the security checks taken care of, quick enough that neither a SHIELD agent nor a Joint Chief need break stride. Inside the cavernous hangar, the team is greeted by the sight of a huge B-52 bomber. Sam Wilson glances over the markings, then leans toward Peggy and informs her in a murmur, "5th Strategic Bombardment Wing."

Within a few seconds, they're standing beneath the bomber: the bay doors are open, and most of its armament has been transferred to wheeled racks all around on the tarmac. "Perhaps Curt had better fill you in," Taylor says, both his tone and the use of the diminutive making the suggestion sound almost like an accusation.

Where Taylor seems skeptical of SHIELD's presence, LeMay seems outright hostile. His tone is clipped and declarative as he answers, "One of our technicians discovered that a warhead was missing." He gestures over at one specific rack, where one of the bombs has been partially dismantled. Wilson's eyes go wide and his jaw drops. LeMay looks like he'd like to throttle the former Airman, SHIELD or no.

Taylor clarifies: "A nuclear warhead, he means."


Well, good that they are getting the checks taken care of, because Peggy sure as HELL doesn't plan on breaking stride. Not right now, not while she's waiting to get through to a place where they might actually get a tiny bit more information. She nods for her men to follow, and clearly expects them to keep pace because the director isn't slowing down on her high heels either. She's not color coded, she's in a black, sleek suit with a white button down shirt beneath. It's all business, screamingly so. The look in her eyes as they cut through the doors also just DARES either of the generals to say a word about her team.

She's almost waiting for it. Bring it.

But, work is actually more important. She nods towards Sam as he informs her about the wing they are looking at, dark eyes drinking over the entire scene around them. But then the news is dropped and, suddenly, she's almost understands the secrecy. She takes in a deep breath through her nose, drinking in the scene around them a bit deeper. "…Discovered a warhead was missing. How long between checks of these assets? And has this entire building been locked down now?" She motions to her side, gesturing for the younger agents to come forward and stand, basically, at equal line with her. It's a motion that opens the floor to their questions as well.


Armando's eyes grow wide. "… A nuke." the young man says, in disbelief. "You lost a nuclear weapon." he reiterates as he shakes his head, taking a slow breath as he rests his nose between pinched fingers. "Good lord." he takes a slow breath, shaking his head. Disappointment, thy name is Armando.


The hostile tone does take Amadeus aback a little bit. While he still is relatively new to this whole SHIELD business, he knows better than to mouth off to people in uniforms. That never ends well. Pressing his lips together in a thin smile, he plays it cool for now. Desppite this, his eyes do squint from one General to the other. When the way is lead underneath the bomber doors, Cho lifts a dark brow and takes a look up inside briefly.

Looking up, he gives a more discreet look to his companions and lets a barely-audible groan croak in his throat. 'They lost it' he mouths, shaking his head then. As for Peggy, well…she's brught a team of younger agents and the generals have likely noticed.

When Darwin finally speaks, Cho follows suit with a sigh. "I'll need to see the specs," he says, though he does give a nod to Darwin in the process of that. The look is then panned over Peggy, Miles, and Sam in turn. A small sucker is unwrapped then and tucked cooly into his mouth with the stick protruding. Looking to Peggy then, he raises his brows expectantly and awaits further orders.


"Well, that /is/ troubling." Miles says with a slight nod. He indicates Amadeus before clasping his hands in front of himself, "Feed him whatever information you have, he'll be able to put it all together and work out the most likely outcome." There's a slight pause, "Do you have any other information for us, are you going to continue to be spiteful? This isn't exactly something we have time to sit around tea and discus."


"Why the hell we need this team of misfits from some international agency…" LeMay begins, voice laden with scorn.

"I believe you'll find that the President outranks you," Taylor snaps back, interrupting. "If you think it's your role to second-guess, then maybe you should be in a different job."

From another direction, a familiar Boston drawl cuts in: "I've half a mind to put you all in different jobs." Leaning out of the hatch of the B-52, dressed in a simple gray business suit, and looking a lot more exhausted and dispirited than he ever has on a television broadcast, John F. Kennedy is nonetheless summoning up enough spit and vinegar to stare down the military men who call themselves subordinates only to him. He takes the steps down from the aircraft slowly, extending a hand toward Peggy. "Mrs. Carter," he greets her, his own tone businesslike. "I've put my own detail on building security." That explains the MiBs — Secret Service agents, no doubt. Taylor grimaces at the mention that the military police have been superceded; LeMay looks downright mutinous. "Your team will have whatever they need," the President continues, casting a look at the bickering Chiefs. "I think what we need here is an outside perspective."

Kennedy half-smirks with amusement at said Generals' reaction to a kid with a lollipop asking them for specs on an H-bomb, and gestures to their aides to comply. After a few seconds of digging through a briefcase, they hand the papers over to Cho.

Agent Morales's tone is obviously not appreciated by anyone in the military, but one of the lower-level aides peels off from LeMay's delegation and gestures to the racks. "The disassembled bomb, there? It's a fake. We don't know when the switch was made. It jammed while they were loading the B-52 — otherwise the tech would never have looked closely enough to notice."


It's pretty lucky for everyone that President Kennedy has actually come in exactly when he did, because Peggy was two inches away from telling off men who would then probably try to kick her and her whole team out of this site, and it would have been an utter mess. But, instead, that familiar Boston drawl comes and an odd smile quirks across the Director's lips. Something relieved, surprised, and just a bit worried. If he was here, this truly was that bad. "That's Mrs. Sousa to you, Mr. President… or Director Carter, if we're being formal." Peggy teases lightly, just enough to say that she may have flirted with a certain Kennedy before, or at least stood side by side at more than a few international negotiations with him.

"Mr. President, this is my team… Agent Morales, Agent Munoz, Agent Cho. They all have certain advantages of the sort we've discussed before. I expect them to have full range of this scene and they will treat it like the high level crime scene that it is. The fact that we don't have a timeline on this… makes it even more of a mess. When was the last time this plane went *out*?" While the boys might still be standing around a bit stunned — it is the President after all — Peggy stares at them, "Get moving, Agents. Start your investigation." She, apparently, is handing the actual field work off to them.


Armando steps over to join Cho with the papers, looking them over quietly with the boy-genius. "Who's had access to the bomb? Since we don't have a time frame, we'll need to know everyone who's had access from the time we know it absolutely was a live payload- so, from the day of delivery, I'd assume." he says as he points to the page, "You think they'd use more Deuterium than Tritium given its abundance in seawater." he mentions off-hand, "A little more difficult to create the fusion reaction, though in an H-Bomb."

Another thought comes to mind. "We'll need to see, as the director says, where this bomb has been, too- when, if ever, it moved. Again, from the time we can be absolutely certain it was still in our hands."


Like a proper SHIELD agent, Amadeus is also wearing a pair of sunglasses in order to look like a real spy-type. The young man switches the sucker from one side of his mouth to the other as he regards the General. "Because you lost a weapon that could kill millions in the international theatre, General," comes the reply.

But then comes that familiar Massachusetts accent and he blinks. Panning his gaze slowly over to…the President of the United States, Cho loses his train of thought for just a moment. How could one not? "Just…ah…dimensions, height, weight, width…" Clearing his throat then, he adds at the end: "…Mister President." A wide-eyed look is cast to Peggy and then to Darwin at this. Sam and Miles aren't immune to this look either. He doesn't go into what he can do, but he's mildly shocked for a moment.

"Fifty to one-hundred megatons. It uses a the nuclear fusion of hydrogen isotopes and…you really won't like this." Cho pauses a moment and clears his throat. "We're looking at a zone of destruction at about fifty-five kilometers…or more. Bad, bad stuff. Let me see if I can catch a break here."

Amadeus takes a moment to look over the decoy bomb, squinting at it and committing it to memory. "Good for a fake. It was manufactured, not hand-made. Everything is here except for nuclear material." The decoy is studied more closely then, the welding and everything else studied carefully. "I'm going to need to…" Cho takes out a small device with wires sticking out still and hits a button on it, illuminating the decoy in blacklight while the small oscilliscope fixed onto the device assists in the viewing. There is another nervous look cast back towards Peggy and the President, though. There's a nod to Darwin then as he begins asking some interviewing questions to the Generals and the Prez. It's a team effort.


Miles looks like he just may be about to actually lose his temper, up until the President makes his arrival. He relaxes slightly, waiting for him to say his piece, inclining his head politely when he's introduces, "Mister President." Once they're sent off to handle the actual investigation he turns his attention to the generals.

"Alright," he cracks his knuckles, attention following Amadeus as he gives the specifics on everything, "on top of that we'll need to know if there have been any vehicles capable of carrying it have left, their intended destinations, and if everyone is still on base. We'll need the information on anyone who isn't here that should be." There's a moments pause, before his gaze levels on LeMay in particular, and for a second it looks like he may have something to add, but he stuffs it deep down inside and he leaves that particular mess alone.


Shocked reactions are nothing new to Kennedy; thanks to the broad television coverage of his photogenic family, he has become a celebrity in an unprecedented way for a politician. He shakes hands around the small group, giving them each a strained smile. "Of course, of course, Mrs. Sousa," the President answers Peggy when she corrects him, his smile growing by a few degrees. "I suppose congratulations are in order, most particularly to your husband." He looks over the team with a slight uptick in his eyebrows. "Quite an unusual group you've got here, but I suppose it's a pretty unusual situation," he comments evenly. Then, more quietly, and with a glance at the red-faced generals having a hushed argument off to one side: "Never could resist, could you?"

The aide who handed Cho the specs nods at Armando, wary expression softening a bit as the alien-looking man suggests a sound line of investigation. "We've already called for the records on the bomb to be pulled," he answers. "As you can imagine, there's a lot of paperwork to be dug up, but the stuff we had on-site is over there." He gestures to a large accordion folder, set on a desk. A couple of clerks are sifting through it, sorting out and piling up papers specifically relevant to the missing bomb. "We've also called in anyone still stationed here who had access to the warheads," he adds, gesturing toward a mechanical storage area, where a group of technicians, mechanics, guards, and airmen are seated on folding chairs, most looking pale with fear.

Barely suppressing a sneer, LeMay glances over at Morales, whose comment finally incensed him enough to stop bickering with Taylor. "This is an Air Force base," he snaps. "There's a bomber wing stationed here. Just guess how many vehicles big enough to carry one bomb arrive and depart every day."

From over by the plane's fuselage, Sam Wilson cuts in, defusing the situation with a steadying glance at Morales: "Speaking of vehicles, this B-52 hasn't had a refit in a few years, has it?" One of the USAF personnel confirms with a nod. "Older equipment means it's lower in the flight rotation. If it's not going up as often, that means it's not getting as much attention as some of the other planes."


That quieter comment from the President earns a low smirk from Peggy, looking from him back towards the room, her Agents, the technicians that are hovering around so. Her eyes narrow on the arguing generals for a few heartbeats, almost looking for something else, but she doesn't find whatever she's searching for, so she turns her attention partially back to the Commander-in-Chief. "I don't know what you're talking about. You helped put a woman director into SHIELD, so, you knew what you were getting into…" She keeps that slightly conspiratorial smile in place.

But, work must move on. As the aid mentions calling in those stationed here, she steps forward and nods, "I'd like to interview every person who is still on sight and you better start recalling anyone who was here during that time. We'll be talking to all of them personally if we don't start finding answers soon. I'll be in on each discussion but which of you Agents whiches to brush up your interview skills?" AKA, Interrogation technique. But the nice ones. Apparently, Peggy is taking a person hand with the man-to-man stuff.


Armando is given the load of files he requested. Its a lot. "I'll have to take these with me back to HQ and study them in depth." he says first, as he begins to scan through the files- figuring things out as he goes with those white, featureless eyes. "Doesn't a scientist ever check this thing out?" he asks, eye-ridges narrowing as his leafing through the papers quicker- more frantically. "Good lord- I'd bet they don't even have high-school physics classes."

Armando looks up at the generals with disbelief. "What kind of dog and pony show are you running around here?" The Mutant doesn't seem all that bothered about talking to the Generals like this. "You have a weapon here that could kill millions and you track chain of custody by paper checklists? Basic and exceedingly superficial inspections? What if someone misreads a form? Makes a type? Gets lazy because they're having a bad day because the PX ran out of beef jerky?" Armando just stares with those featureless eyes- eyes that seem like he's staring into them. Through them. Like he could see everything. "It wouldn't take much to introduce errors like that- particularly given the turnover rate here. Your physical security is great- but the paperwork security is absolute trash. I can see a hundred scenarios where someone could inject a false report, a simple changed word and this bomb could be anywhere."


The blacklight is only swept over the bomb once and the images and equations shown on the small oscilliscope screen are memorized as he goes. "Aha!" he speaks up suddenly and turns the device off. It's packed back away in the rucksack by the rest of the group. "Nuclear material isn't the only thing its missing. Nitrocellulose lacquer. Vinyl flakes are indicative of an automotive manufacturer. Not a bad replica, though. It'd stand up to a superficial inspection. /Meaning/…"

Cho turns back to Peggy and the Prez, popping the sucker out of his mouth so that he can point it towards the decoy. "There have likely been improper and careless inspections going on for some time. Anyone doing a throrough inspection should have caught it…I think." He's flipping through the specs he was handed then looking for the preventative maintenance and inspection SOP.

Cho clears his throat then before he pops the sucker back into his mouth. "Yep! So! We're looking for a major auto manufacturer. General Motors, Ford, Chrysler, Volkswagen…" Taking a deep breath then, he looks to Darwin. "I'll need a list of vehicle types authorized to transport ordinance of this magnitude. It could be the manufacturer of those vehicles that we're looking for."

He does respond to Peggy with a smile and shakes his head, wrinkling his nose up. "I'm happy to sit in so I can memorize what they're saying, but someone not me should conduct interviews." A nod in agreement is given to Darwin as well to that before Miles is once more looked to.


"Exactly. It's and Air Force base." Miles says, "Are you telling me you don't keep track of what goes where and who pilots it?" He gives his head a shake, nodding at Armando. "I was under the impression somebody so eager to use a sledgehammer where a scalpel would do, would at least keep an eye on them."

His attention shifts towards Peggy now. "That should be me. Preferably without the good General LeMay sitting in." It's obvious that he is not happy in the slightest, "Though I'll leave that to the President and yourself to decide."


"Director Carter, I'll be honest. Almost nothing you could do at this point would surprise me," Kennedy answers her in a moment of genuine good humor. Then LeMay's sharp comment at Miles draws the President's attention, and the weariness settles back in on his face. He goes to have a chat with the Air Force Chief of Staff, who appears to be holding forth with a list of sites that he considers ripe for bombing in reaction to the theft. Only the presence of the President himself seems to hold LeMay's bile at bay when Armando starts insulting their security methods. Taylor, for his part, looks almost relieved: this is on the Air Force and their shoddy paperwork. There doesn't appear to be much love lost between the Generals, so this could be considered an opportunity for someone sufficiently unscrupulous.

The employees sitting in the maintenance area cast nervous glances at Peggy. As workers in a high-security facility that handles nuclear weapons, they have no illusions about just how thin the distinctions between 'interview' and 'interrogation' are going to get over this. An Air Force attache nods at Cho's request, and Morales's suggestion of private interviews gets a nod from the President. LeMay's going to be busy for a moment, anyway, getting yelled at by not just his boss, but that of the Western world.

As Kennedy quietly but viciously knocks LeMay back into line, the awps and nasal A's of his accent getting more pronounced by the second, one of his personal aides — easily distinguished from the Secret Service and the military group by their causal dress — rushes up, looking easily as gray as Armando as he whispers something in the President's ear.

"WHAT?!" Kennedy practically yelps in response, grabbing the aide by the lapels. The generals' eyes have gone wide. "Say that number again," he says.


While there is a slight line of tension from Peggy as Armando goes on like that, she doesn't step in. He wasn't wrong, he just wasn't being tactful about it. She watches Kennedy and LeMay with a smirk before stepping away to introduce herself to a few of the other crew. She nods to Morales, "You're with me, then. We'll be here the next day or two to finish all of these, but best to get everything as… fresh as possible, all circumstances considered." Which wasn't fresh at all. But that's all they could do.

Then that aid is looking pale, and the President is looking more panicked. She turns her head quietly to them both and, though the word is meant mainly for the agent, not for the President himself, Peggy snaps the one order she knows how to give in this situation. "Report."


"This is an absolute mess." Armando says, shaking his head, wiping a hand across his bald head. "Doesn't matter now, though. Time to fix it." he says quietly, taking another slow breath. He's already started reading through the files. He's otherwise quiet regarding the total security nightmare they've stumbled upon. "I do recommend you change your paper-security immediately. I'd also suggest you check the rest of the weapons to ensure they're still there- with someone who's familiar with Isaac Newton."


A blink of his eyes and Amadeus draws his attention back from the decoy again to look towards Kennedy, a worried expression briefly crossing his features. Apparently, this wasn't good news. There's worse when he considers he has no idea exactly how long the missing bomb has actually been…missing. Approaching with caution still, he nods to Darwin.

"Or someone familiar with your own SOP," Cho chimes in with Darwin's words. Looking to Peggy then, he quirks a brow up. "I'll keep digging and see what I can find for now, boss. Sound good?" This is said even as he goes back to the specs and starts flipping through them again. "I'll gather all the data I can from the site so we can at least narrow it down." Again, he turns to Darwin. "Seriously, right? The protocols here are reasonably stringent." There's a glance to the Generals then before he utters in earshot of Darwin. "See, this is why you can't have nice things. Or well…things that level cities aren't /nice/ but.."

With a shrug, he drops it for now and goes back to his investigation of the area, taking measurements of everything and trying to replay how it must have happened in his head.


Miles nods and starts to head over towards where everyone is gathered, thought he pauses as the potential bad news comes in. He folds his hands in front of himself again, waiting to hear what happened now.


For a second, it looks like the group is going to witness Kennedy's temper in action. Then, he pushes the aide aside and staggers one step back, looking like he's going to collapse. "Fifteen," he starts to murmur, hands going to his temples.

The aide rushes to Carter, glancing at Armando as he says, looking shell-shocked, "That's exactly what the President said. The first thing he ordered was an emergency inventory — the whole nuclear arsenal." Looking back at Carter, his adam's apple bobs before he continues, "We just got the results: fifteen fakes — this one and fourteen more — from multiple branches, all over CONUS."

Whoever did this orchestrated 15 separate paperwork SNAFUs, with no regard for organizational distinctions, on multiple bases all over the United States — and was only found out once, who knows how many months after committing their crime. There's an undeniable brilliance to it, beneath the terrifying implications. What ambition, short of the destruction of a superpower, could such a plan serve?

Kennedy turns to the SHIELD team, pale and exhausted. "I've thought about it more than once, you know," he tells them, directing his words to the entire group. "What if I'm the one who has to lead this country straight into the end of the world? After the missile crisis, I thought it could never get closer." He wipes his hands down over his face. "I was wrong. If we don't stop whoever's behind this — whatever they're planning — it's over." He shakes his head, turning to Carter and concluding, "Full cooperation. Everything you need. Get our bombs back, and as far as I'm concerned, SHIELD can do no wrong."


The news hits like a ton of bricks. Peggy hasn't ever puked in the field, but she's suddenly quite tempted. She takes in a slow, deep breath through her nose and lets it out. They were here for a reason. They would handle this. She pushes one hand across her eyes and takes just three seconds to organize her thoughts before turning back to her team and stating quietly. "This… as bad news as it is, will help with the investigation. If we can cross reference the people between all the different bases which are missing munitions, we can pair down the possibilites rather smoothly. It's all just leg work, there's just more of it now. Means we have no time to waste here, Agents. Get to work." Peggy clips out, trying to pull everything back into a sense of normalcy, even if the scale is now off the charts.

She looks back to the President and other higher ups present, her eyes dark, slightly narrowed, but dead serious, "We need full personnel reports for every place that is missing a nuke, back for at least a year. The check in and out logs. Everything. It's a lot of analysis, but that's what we do. I want it all sent to SHIELD HQ in New York by tomorrow morning. Understood?" And with those commands given, as soon as she expects they will be followed, she turns to head off to start the interviews here. They had no time to waste.

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