Marcus soon reconnected with Ashley.
"Ashley, I need you to activate the 'Hurricane' emergency plan."
"Sir?" Ashley's voice was stunned on the other end of the line.
"Wake up all our friends working at CNN, Fox News, and Reuters. I don't care what excuse they use oil spill, migrating birds at high altitude I need at least ten news helicopters filling the airspace east of Florida within one hour."
…High above Florida, at ten thousand meters.
Marcus floated in the stratosphere, passing through the thin cloud layers.
He wasn't wearing his flashy costume but a specially made invisible flight suit from Watt Company, making him nearly invisible on radar.
High-sensitivity tactical earpieces filled his ears.
"Ashley," he spoke calmly into the comm, as if ordering a coffee, "are all cameras in position?"
"Sir," Ashley's voice crackled from Watt's headquarters, trembling with excitement, "thirteen news helicopters have entered the target airspace's perimeter under the pretext of extreme weather. They're equipped with top-of-the-line telephoto lenses. At your command, we can switch to global live broadcast within five seconds."
"Excellent."
"Also," Ashley added, "our friends at S.H.I.E.L.D. just sent final confirmation. President Matthew Ellis's Air Force One will reach your interception point in three minutes. The war machine… is ready."
"He will comply, of course," Marcus murmured, smiling.
"Sir, target acquired," Ashley's voice came through.
Marcus's X-ray vision had already penetrated the clouds, locking onto a Boeing 747 dozens of kilometers away.
"Copy. Track my position. Initiate in twenty minutes." He shut off the comm.
Like a meteor, he silently streaked across the sky, trailing Air Force One from a distance… an hour ago, the Iron Patriot armor had smoothly landed on the runway.
Inside, of course, it wasn't Rhodes but Killian's capable assistant, Eric Savin.
President Ellis had no idea. He saluted and said, "Colonel Rhodes, with you here, this feels like the safest place in America."
Eric Savin, clad in armor, said nothing, simply nodded.
Unprepared Secret Service agents allowed him on board.
The plane climbed to cruising altitude.
Savin glanced at the clock, then headed to the presidential conference room.
The agents relaxed, even posing for selfies as the Iron Patriot approached.
Without warning, Savin shoved them into a compartment, pressing his crimson hand against the door and seams, instantly welding the alloy shut.
He strode toward the central conference room.
President Ellis was meeting with his senior advisors.
A personal bodyguard eyed him suspiciously, but Savin did not hesitate to neutralize him.
"Rhodes?! You're insane!" one subordinate shouted.
The Secret Service agents drew their guns they were the elite of the elite.
Bullets struck the Iron Patriot armor, but only produced a harmless shower of sparks.
Savin's movements were clean, precise, and efficient; within three minutes, the conference room was cleared.
Chaos reigned. Only a terrified, pale President and his deputy huddled under the table, trembling.
As tables were overturned and the vice president executed, President Ellis still had some fight left. He grabbed a fallen agent's pistol and aimed at Savin.
Bang!
Savin yanked him up, pressing him against the cabin wall.
"Ah-!"
He tore the helmet off the armor, revealing his cold, emotionless face.
This was not Rhodes.
President Ellis gasped.
"Go ahead, kill me if you dare!" Ellis said, pretending to be tough.
"Mr. President, patience. Your stage hasn't arrived yet," Savin sneered.
Without giving the president a chance, he roughly dragged Matthew Ellis and forced him inside the Iron Patriot armor cavity.
Bang! The armor sealed.
Savin quickly input the coordinates on the mechanical arm's control panel.
Whoosh!
The Iron Patriot, carrying the president, detached from Air Force One and vanished into the sky.
"Goodbye, Mr. President."
The president had been successfully kidnapped.
Savin stayed in the cabin, locking the remaining officials and crew in the rear, preparing to parachute to safety.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of something outside.
His body tensed instantly!
A figure.
A black silhouette bathed in sunlight, hovering calmly outside the cabin, expressionless through triple-glass windows.
"That face… Patriot?!"
Savin froze. Damn, how the hell was he here?!
Marcus slowly revealed a full, toothy smile.
"Perfect," he murmured.
Through the window, Marcus watched everything.
His X-ray vision showed the president sealed in a container, flying away.
"Well done, darling." Marcus smiled his signature smile, then tore off the invisible flight suit, revealing the blue Stars-and-Stripes armor beneath.
Whoosh!
He became a streak of light, crashing through three alloy bulkheads, hovering in the center of the cabin.
Bloodied, sparks flying everywhere, his star-studded cape whipping wildly behind him.
"Excuse me, sorry to interrupt," Marcus's voice cut over the roaring wind, "but the in-flight service on this plane seems terrible."
Savin froze, unprepared for this wild variable.
You damn
"Shh." Marcus held up a finger. "Where's the president?"
"Ha!" Savin laughed, "Guess what? Thought you won? Too late, hero!"
Savin's body began to glow. The Desperation Virus had reached its limit.
He surged toward Marcus like a walking furnace.
"Go to hell!!"
He punched Marcus in the face, his fist glowing hot enough to melt steel.
He truly wanted to burn a hole through this blond sweetheart's head.
Marcus didn't budge.
Bang!
A dull thud.
Savin's fist struck Marcus's face.
…
Savin's smile froze.
His fist smoked, but that face… remained untouched.
"Is that all?" Marcus said slowly, "Your temperature… about three thousand degrees, right? You tried, but it's still not enough."
"No… impossible…" Savin felt a flicker of fear. This guy's nerve was just too thick…