Dark Avengers: The Patriot List: A Marvel: Untold Novel (Marvel Untold) by David Guymer

Author:David Guymer [Guymer, David]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: science fiction, action and adventure, superheroes, media tie-in, Marvel
Publisher: Aconyte
Published: 2021-10-05T00:00:00+00:00

Part Two

Bosaso

Chapter Eighteen

Famous Faces

The yellow and blue cab deposited Daken and the others at the side of the road. It pulled a U-turn back into traffic, wheels spinning on the loose sand as its driver raced back, northbound, to his next fare at Bender Qassim Airport.

Daken watched it disappear into the busy haze of dust cars and container trucks bound for the seaport. Of exhaust fumes. Of heat. Of sand. There was no curb to speak of. The sidewalk was a verge of raked sand either side of a congested but unmarked road. Whitewashed buildings with colorful rooftops lined the road on both sides. Wild date and fever trees offered stultifying oases of shade that bustled with street traders. Stores and cafés competed for what was left of the sidewalk, like ships tangled together after a heavy storm, a riot of flags, awnings, multilingual signage, teenagers wearing flip-flops and sandwich boards, through which seasoned locals expertly wove.

Daken sniffed, testing the roadside’s savor like a master sommelier sampling a fierce scotch whisky. Its main body and aroma came from the road, baked metal, melting rubber, diesel, but with a distinct secondary bouquet of frying rice, decaying seaweed, and sand.

He took another sniff.

“That’ll never not be disgusting.”

Bullseye sweated like a ham in foil under the African sun. He was dressed in a Yankees jersey and shorts. The bullseye brand on his forehead shimmered with pooled sweat. How he ever managed to pass through any airport security, anywhere in the world, was a mystery to Daken. Bullseye’s aroma was a blending of genetics, diet, and questionable lifestyle choices that came together in Daken’s nose as a perfume that was entirely distinct to him. Daken could have tracked him through a packed baseball stadium with his eyes closed.

“Arabian Knight was here,” he said.

He looked left, then squinted right. The sun glimmered and danced off car roofs and windows. The scent was clear enough that, in his mind, it was almost conceivable that he might see the swish of Hashim’s coat as he disappeared into the crowd. But of course, he saw nothing of the kind. The scent was a day old, traipsed over, and over again, by countless strangers.

Moonstone took a step back from the road, holding up the surveillance photo of Hashim that Victoria had provided. If she had really wanted to be certain that this was the right spot then she could have surveilled it from above, as the spy drone that had taken the photo would have, but the rationale for sending the three of them was that they could act incognito. Victoria had offered to lead the mission herself, while Robert had pleaded with Osborn for permission to join it, but the deputy director of H.A.M.M.E.R. and the Sentry were two of the most famous faces in the world. The Somalis had cable TV. As heinous a shock to the system as that might be for some. Ares, on the other hand, had demanded, rather than begged, and once Osborn

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