While the rest of the Midtown High group boarded the cargo ferry from Valencia to Naples, Peter, Cindy, and Felicia slipped away. They weren't taking a boat. They were currently strapped into the jump seats of a heavily armored Wild Pack transport plane, cutting straight across the Mediterranean toward Taranto, Italy.
Taranto was an unassuming coastal city. The southern Italian economy had left its streets looking a bit faded and weathered compared to the glamorous northern hubs. Aside from a massive British Navy raid back in 1940, the port town didn't get much global attention.
"Hey," Peter said, raising his voice over the drone of the plane's engines. "Do you think the person who helped my dad could have been Madame Web?"
Cindy tilted her head, her brow furrowing. She had heard the name passed around S.H.I.E.L.D. briefings, but she had never actually met the precognitive messenger. She offered Peter a helpless shrug.
Across the aisle, Felicia Hardy sat with her arms tightly crossed, glaring daggers at Silver Sable. Felicia didn't understand why this covert operation required a strike team of heavily armed mercenaries. A massive transport plane wasn't exactly stealthy. She leveled a deeply unfriendly stare at Sable, looking every bit like an angry stray cat ready to hiss.
Sable didn't even blink. She completely ignored Felicia's hostility, a faint, amused smirk playing at the corner of her mouth as she checked the action on her rifle.
Peter didn't actually mind Sable tagging along. He knew exactly what Nick Fury was doing. Fury wanted Hydra to know Richard Parker's son was digging into the past. Peter was bait. As long as he poked around looking for his father's old contacts, Hydra would snap to attention. Who Fury actually sent to watch from the shadows didn't really matter to him.
The transport hit the tarmac on the outskirts of Taranto, the landing gear screeching against the runway. Sable stood up, grabbing the overhead railing.
"We're here," Sable said, her voice crisp. "I don't know exactly what you're hunting for, Parker, and I won't get in your way. But Fury's paying me to keep you breathing. I'll be around. Call if you need heavy fire."
She tossed a small, encrypted communicator across the aisle. Peter snatched it out of the air. He led Cindy and Felicia down the descending ramp.
As their boots hit the dirt, Peter glanced back at the plane. "Ten bucks says she's going to track us through a sniper scope the entire time."
"Yeah," Felicia muttered, adjusting her jacket. "Just like the rest of Fury's lackeys."
Nobody really liked Nick Fury.
The transport plane didn't linger. The engines roared, and the massive jet banked back into the sky. Felicia watched it go, then turned to Peter, her shoulders dropping slightly.
"Do you think your parents died for the same reason my dad did?" she asked quietly. "My dad died because he found out a terrifying secret. He found out Hydra was still alive."
Peter stopped walking. He didn't say anything, but he gave a slow, deliberate nod. He reached into his backpack, pulled out Richard Parker's weathered notebook, and flipped to the address Fury had given him.
The hotel wasn't anything special. It sat on a narrow, sun-baked street in the middle of town, boasting faded stucco walls and a rusted sign. Peter pushed the glass door open. A small bell chimed.
An elderly Italian woman stood behind the front desk, peering at them over a pair of thick reading glasses.
"How many rooms?" she asked in heavily accented English, eyeing the three teenagers.
"Actually, ma'am, I was hoping to ask you a question," Peter said, stepping up to the counter. "Do you remember a couple named Parker? They stayed here a few years ago. They were scientists... looking for the local Taranto spiders."
The old woman stopped sorting her keys. She squinted, her wrinkles deepening. "Oh. Yes. I remember them. A lovely couple. I warned them to be careful of the spider's bite. I told them about the old dancing sickness, the tarantism. They just laughed and told me it was a myth."
She leaned forward, her eyes darting over Peter's face. "You're their boy, aren't you? Didn't they tell you anything about this place?"
"They passed away a few years ago," Peter said softly. "I'm trying to find one of their friends. Someone local who helped them locate the right spiders. Do you have any idea who that might be?"
The old woman frowned, muttering something in rapid Italian under her breath. She shook her head. She remembered the Parkers, but they hadn't brought any local friends back to the lobby.
Peter stifled a sigh. "Okay. Thank you. Can we get three rooms, please?"
He handed over his card. Logically, the next step was to recreate his parents' path—hunt for the Taranto spider, ask the locals, and hope the mysterious contact revealed themselves. But S.H.I.E.L.D. had already tried the standard detective work. They had found nothing. Hydra had probably scorched the earth here, too. This wasn't going to be easy.
Two heavy motorcycles tore across a winding mountain road in southern Italy, the engines echoing off the cliff sides.
Steve Rogers leaned into a sharp curve, his beloved Harley-Davidson gripping the asphalt. He glanced over at the rider pulling up alongside him.
"Any of this look familiar to you?" Steve shouted over the rushing wind.
Logan squinted against the sun, his knuckles white around the handlebars. If Steve hadn't explicitly told him his full name was James Logan Howlett. he never would have known. He didn't have his memories. But when Steve talked about the trenches in World War II, about the mud and the blood and the Howling Commandos, Logan felt it in his bones. He knew Steve wasn't just telling stories. They had lived it together.
"Where exactly are we heading?" Logan grunted, his voice gravelly. "We ever deploy to this town? Taranto?"
"No," Steve called back, accelerating on the straightaway. "Hydra didn't build bases down here. We fought our way straight north toward Normandy."
Steve tapped the side of his helmet as a secure frequency crackled to life in his earpiece. He listened for three seconds, his jaw tightening.
"Change of pace, Logan," Steve said, keeping his eyes on the road. "Fury just checked in. Spider-Man is in Taranto. Orders are to stay completely off the radar. Do not let the enemy know we're here."