Marvel: A.T.L.A.S. - Ghost Protocol

Moscow - July 1987

Snow fell on the graves of the Novodevichy Cemetery. Caspian knelt before a weathered headstone, his Emperor Eye scanning the Cyrillic inscription while his gloved fingers traced patterns in the frost. The grave was well-maintained. Too well-maintained for someone supposedly dead for twenty-two years.

"Local records confirm regular payments for upkeep," Walter's voice came through his encrypted comm. "Routed through seven different banks. Very professional."

"Someone wants to keep up appearances." Caspian brushed snow from a fresh flower arrangement. "The groundskeeper?"

"Interviewed this morning. Claims an old woman makes the payments. Always in cash, always on the fifteenth."

The Emperor Eye caught subtle marks on the stone's base. Recent. Someone had moved it, then carefully replaced it. "The body in this grave isn't Novak."

"No," Walter agreed. "According to records Director Valemont uncovered, the remains were cremated before burial. Convenient."

Caspian stood, snow falling from his shoulders. His breath frosted in the Moscow air as he surveyed the cemetery. The Emperor Eye mapped sight lines, escape routes, potential surveillance positions. They weren't alone.

"Our shadow's back. Northwest corner."

"Identified. FSB agent. Low level."

"No." Caspian's voice was very quiet. "Look at his stance. The way he maintains distance. That's A.T.L.A.S. training. Old school."

A pause on the comm. "Confirmed. Movement patterns match 1960s protocols."

The snow was falling heavier now, reducing visibility. Perfect. Caspian moved like a ghost between the headstones, the Emperor Eye tracking his target's position. The man was good—constantly moving, never maintaining a pattern. But good wasn't enough against the Emperor Eye.

The confrontation lasted seconds. A precise strike to the throat prevented any call for backup. A sweep took the legs. Before the man could recover, Caspian had him pinned against a mausoleum wall, knife pressing against his carotid.

"The payments to the groundskeeper," Caspian said in perfect Russian. "Who makes them?"

The man's eyes widened slightly. Not at the knife—at Caspian's face. "You... you look like him. Like Arthur."

"Answer the question."

"You don't understand what you're digging into." Blood trickled where the knife pressed deeper. "What your grandfather tried to contain... it never stopped growing. Never stopped spreading."

"The facilities. Where are they?"

The man actually laughed, despite the blade. "Everywhere. Nowhere. Ask yourself—why did Arthur Valemont really die? What was he trying to prevent?"

The Emperor Eye caught the subtle muscle tension too late. The capsule had already crunched between the man's teeth. His eyes rolled back as the poison took hold.

"Control, asset down." Caspian stepped back as the body collapsed. "Suicide protocol consistent with 1960s A.T.L.A.S. training."

"Understood. Cleanup team en route." Walter's voice shifted. "Director Valemont has an update. The facility search turned up something in Finland."

*A.T.L.A.S. Mobile Command Center, Helsinki - 12 Hours Later*

Satellite imagery covered the screens of the converted warehouse. Carrie stood before the largest display, analyzing thermal scans of what appeared to be an abandoned mining complex.

"Power signatures are wrong," she said as Caspian entered, still brushing Moscow snow from his coat. "Too regular for a decommissioned site. And the shielding..."

"Similar to the Bangkok facility?"

"More sophisticated. Older technology, but better engineered." She turned to face him. "The Moscow contact?"

"Dead. But he recognized my resemblance to grandfather. And he knew about the circumstances of his death."

Carrie's expression didn't change, but her fingers tightened slightly on the file she held. "Your father completed his analysis of the original equipment manifests. The mining operation was a cover. They were building something down there. Something that required specialized containment systems."

The thermal scans showed regular patrol patterns. Guards maintaining a perimeter around a facility that officially didn't exist.

"The FSB has no record of this site," Walter added from his station. "Neither does any other intelligence agency. It's a ghost."

"No." Caspian studied the patterns his Emperor Eye detected in the security movements. "It's one of grandfather's insurance policies. The question is... who's been maintaining it all these years?"

The facility's power signatures pulsed on the screen like a heartbeat. Regular. Patient. Waiting.

"We go in quiet," Carrie decided. "Minimal team. Full containment protocols."

"Director." Walter's voice carried urgency. "We're picking up an energy spike from the facility. Something's happening."

The thermal scans shifted, showing new heat signatures. Movement patterns becoming more erratic. And at the center of the facility, something was growing very, very cold.