Raza Hamidmi had never seriously planned to kill Tony Stark.
As far as Raza was concerned, Tony was a goose that laid golden eggs.
And now that idiot Obadiah Stane had personally delivered the goose straight into his hands.
No wonder Raza could barely hide the contempt on his face whenever he dealt with the man.
What Raza failed to understand was that while Tony Stark might indeed be capable of laying golden eggs…
that didn’t mean he’d obediently sit there and lay them for Raza.
Quite the opposite.
Tony was already plotting his escape.
And after realizing that most of his captors weren’t exactly equipped to audit advanced engineering schematics, he’d settled on a plan.
Mark I.
Tony split the suit’s blueprints into separate sections and disguised them as missile designs.
Whenever he needed materials, he simply claimed they were necessary for building the weapon Raza wanted.
Useful components were mixed in with piles of irrelevant junk.
Individually, nothing looked suspicious.
Together?
They would become a suit of powered armor.
With Yinsen helping him, Tony began hammering metal inside the cave.
Again.
And again.
And again.
While Tony Stark was busy fully embracing his destiny as the world’s most overqualified blacksmith, Sherlock’s group was finally closing in on the valley.
Oddly enough, the outer perimeter wasn’t particularly well guarded.
Calling it poorly defended would actually be generous.
Sherlock and John hadn’t encountered a single patrol on their way in.
Of course, that might have had something to do with the route they’d chosen.
They’d come through the desert.
The valley’s geography was practically perfect for anyone arrogant enough to believe the desert itself was an impenetrable wall.
Three sides were surrounded by enormous stretches of empty sand.
Only one side approached anything resembling civilization.
As natural defenses went, it was excellent.
The Ten Rings clearly thought so too.
In their minds, nobody was insane enough to cross that much desert just to reach them.
And even if someone tried, friendly forces farther out were supposedly watching the skies.
So as long as the Ten Rings controlled the one practical approach into the valley, the base was effectively untouchable.
Which explained why Sherlock had managed to drive most of the way there without seeing a single enemy.
Sometimes fate really did have a sense of humor.
The moment the valley came into view, however, the mood inside the Raptor changed.
Vacation over.
Everyone switched into something resembling operational mode.
Helen had no combat experience, but she could handle logistics and look after Doro.
That evening, Sherlock used alchemy to create a bunker beneath the sand.
Helen and Doro—the two noncombatants—stayed there.
Sherlock and John took their weapons and headed out to scout.
The desert became bitterly cold after sunset.
They crossed the remaining distance without much trouble and eventually reached the ridge overlooking the valley.
Then they looked down.
Both men sucked in a breath.
The scale of the base was nothing like the brief glimpse Sherlock remembered from the movie.
It was enormous.
Beneath sprawling camouflage nets sat crates upon crates of weapons and ammunition.
Armed men constantly moved between them, pulling out rifles, shells, and other equipment.
Some sat nearby with files and tools, grinding markings off the weapons.
And that wasn’t all.
There were actual production areas inside the valley.
Crude weapons.
Improvised launchers.
Homemade artillery.
The kind of brutally simple equipment that could be produced with limited infrastructure and still ruin someone’s day.
A conventional assault on this place would be miserable.
There were too many people.
Too many heavy weapons.
But the strangest part was the equipment the terrorists were cleaning.
Those weapons were far beyond anything this camp should have been capable of manufacturing.
John adjusted the magnification on his binoculars.
Then froze.
Printed clearly across several crates was a familiar corporate logo.
STARK INDUSTRIES.
John lowered the binoculars.
His expression twisted.
“Sherlock.”
“Hm?”
“Tell me I’m seeing things.”
Sherlock already knew where this was going.
“Those crates say Stark Industries, don’t they?”
Sherlock gave an awkward little cough.
John stared back into the valley.
“So Tony finally got screwed by his own business model?”
His voice carried undisguised disgust.
“Sell weapons to both sides of a war, make money coming and going, and then one side decides they’d rather kidnap you than keep paying?”
Sherlock winced.
That interpretation wasn’t exactly flattering.
“No.”
John looked over.
“It’s more complicated than that.”
Sherlock sighed.
“Stark Industries isn’t run by Tony alone.”
That was true.
Completely true.
It was also nowhere near enough context to explain what was actually happening.
John rolled his eyes.
Then went back to watching the valley through his binoculars.
Several minutes passed.
Eventually, he lowered them again.
His expression had become serious.
“Sherlock, sneaking in there is a terrible idea.”
Sherlock remained silent.
“They’ve got too many men.”
John gestured toward the valley.
“And heavy weapons.”
“Even if we successfully get Tony out, getting away afterward would be a nightmare.”
Sherlock still didn’t respond.
John frowned.
“If you’re certain he’s here, the safest option is to send the location to the military.”
He paused.
“Or S.H.I.E.L.D.
Whatever they’re calling themselves.”
“Let them deal with it.”
Sherlock was crouched beside him with both palms pressed against the ground.
His eyes had been closed the entire time.
John had assumed he was concentrating on the conversation.
He wasn’t.
Alchemy was spreading through the earth beneath them.
Searching.
Feeling.
Mapping.
Stone.
Cavities.
Tunnels.
Structures.
Then he found something.
His eyes opened.
A sly grin spread across his face.
“No.”
John immediately distrusted that smile.
Sherlock lifted his hands from the ground.
“No need to turn this into a full-scale military operation.”
John stared at him.
“I can get Tony out directly.”
“Then why are you smiling like that?”
Sherlock ignored the question.
“We do need to change the schedule, though.”
He stood.
“We’ll come back tomorrow morning.”
John’s eyebrows shot up.
“Tomorrow?”
“Yep.”
Sherlock dusted sand from his hands.
“For now, we go back.”
“Back?”
“To sleep.”
John stared at him as though he’d lost his mind.
Sherlock grabbed him by the arm and started heading down the ridge.
“Come on.”
“Wait.”
John resisted.
“What did you find?”
“You’ll see tomorrow.”
“Sherlock.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Did you find Stark?”
Sherlock smiled.
“Sleep first.”
“Sherlock.”
“No spoilers.”
John looked increasingly tempted to strangle him.
Sherlock refused to explain another word all the way back to the bunker.
The reason was simple.
While probing the valley through alchemy, Sherlock had found the cave where Tony was being held.
And inside that cave…
he’d found something far more interesting.
A suit of armor.
Not finished.
But already recognizable.
Nearby, Tony Stark sat in front of an ancient bulky computer, glasses on, furiously writing code.
Sherlock knew exactly what he was looking at.
The Mark I was almost ready.
Which meant rescuing Tony tonight would be a terrible waste.
Tony had gone through all this trouble to build the first Iron Man suit.
Sherlock wasn’t about to kick down the door five minutes before the show started.
He could rescue Tony now.
Or…
he could wait until Tony finished the Mark I, come back tomorrow, and enjoy the spectacle.
Really, there was only one reasonable choice.
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