The lights of Chicago flickered like a guilty co
nscience.
Rain slid down the fogged windows of the Velvet
Cat, a speakeasy humming with saxophones and whi
spered secrets.
Inside, Jack Mercer sipped bourbon and pretended
not to notice the woman in the corner.
She wasn’t supposed to be there.
"Mr. Mercer," she said, sliding into
the booth l
ike she owned it. "I have a message from Langley
."
He didn’t flinch. Just tapped ash from his cigar
ette.
"Langley doesn’t exist yet."
"Then why are you here?"
"Same reason as you," he said. "
The code."
She glanced at the band, then back. "It’s not sa
fe."
"Neither are you."
Jack lit another cigarette. Her eyes tracked the
flame.
"Your cover’s too good," she said.
"People think
you're just some rich kid with a flivver and a
flask."
"I am a rich kid."
"With a neural implant and a kill code in your b
loodstream?"
He smiled. "That part's not on the
résumé."
Her fingers brushed his wrist. Cold.
"Mine is," she said. "And I’m not
here for the c
ode."
"Then why?"
"To warn you. Someone’s coming for the vault und
er Wrigley Field."
He leaned back. "They’ll find a baseball diamond
and a lot of concrete."
"Wrong answer."
Jack stared at her. The music paused between not
es.
"You're not NSA," he said.
"Never said I was."
The saxophone screamed.
A shot cracked through the room.
Glass shattered behind them.
Jack pulled her down as another bullet thudded i
nto the booth.
"Who the hell are you?" he asked.
"Your future," she said.
He didn’t have time to reply. The band was alrea
dy gone.
So were the patrons.
Only the bartender remained, slumped over the co
unter.
Jack stood. Blood on his sleeve.
"Vault’s real," she said.
He nodded. "So’s the war."
They slipped out the back. Rain soaked their coa
ts.
A black sedan idled at the curb.
"Yours?" she asked.
Jack frowned. "No."
Tires screeched.
The car lunged toward them.
Jack shoved her aside and rolled into an alley.
Gunfire lit up the street.
He ducked behind a dumpster, heart pounding.
Footsteps echoed.
Closer.
"Jack," her voice came through his
earpiece. "I
know who’s after you."
"Who?"
"Langley. They think you’re a double."
"Why?"
"Because you were dating Agent Carter."
"I was?"
"You are."
He stared at the dark.
"This is why you're here?"
"No. I’m here because you’re the only one who ca
n stop the launch."
"What launch?"
"Missiles from the old WWII bunkers. Cold War, J
ack. It’s back."
He exhaled. "And I’m the key?"
"You're the only one with the
clearance. And the
override chip."
He tapped his temple. "Still works."
"Good. Because we have fortyeight hours."
They reached a rusted fire escape.
She climbed first.
He followed.
At the rooftop, she turned.
"You still think I’m lying?"
He kissed her. Hard.
"You’re the only thing that feels real."
She smiled. "That’s the neural sync talking."
"Maybe."
They stared out over the city.
Somewhere, a train whistled.
"Where to?" she asked.
"Midwest. Small town. Quiet."
"Why there?"
"That’s where the first signal goes live."
She nodded.
They jumped into the night.
A truck caught them midair.
Cybernetic limbs absorbed the impact.
Jack looked at her.
"You good?"
"Born for this."
He smirked.
"Then let’s save the world."
