The Ghost [Marvel | Steve Rogers]

Chapter 62

Wakanda

Spring 2016

As the Quinjet angled around to settle gracefully on the knoll just outside the Wakandan village they'd come upon shortly after crossing the border, Nadine couldn't help but grow a little wary. It was pure instinct, stemming from when her meticulously trained and cultivated observational skills and reasoning picked up on details that didn't quite add up.

It was a small village—perhaps a couple dozen or so modest to small sized structures, and perhaps around a hundred inhabitants, if she were to guess—that had every appearance of a comfortable but still clearly pre-industrial, even nomadic, African community. There were absolutely no obvious outward sign of modern technology or much in the way of any modern advancements. Its brightly but functionally clothed people were going about their day—men and women carrying baskets and other goods and tools or caring for the livestock populating the village alongside the people, while children wove among them all, running and laughing as they played—amid simple but lovingly maintained traditional homes. There was no trace of electricity or standard plumbing and minimal presence of processed metals of any kind. Even the handful of horses she saw bore the most basic of rope bridles, only. It was the very picture of an isolated, poor but not quite destitute African village.

But that was just it.

It was almost too...perfect a picture. Too...quaint.

Of course, knowing as she did now that Wakanda was not quite the poor third-world country it presented itself as, it seemed blatantly clear why; the village was a front. It offered the image of Wakanda the world expected to see.

What Wakanda wanted the world to see.

It really was quite impressive.

Yet even knowing as much, the fact that the details still didn't quite match the story naturally brought out Nadine's deeply-ingrained instinct for caution.

Of course, it wasn't all a front, she noted as she peered out the viewscreen over Steve's shoulder. It was clear from what she could see that it was still very much a working settlement, with tools genuinely worn from use and subtle wear and tear visible on clothing and buildings that indicated it was still very real. It was an actual, living community.

But it nevertheless betrayed that Wakanda was not quite the desperately poor, backward country most of the world believed it to be to a discerning eye like Nadine's. The quality of the materials she could see making up the structures and the tools and the fabrics weren't entirely rough or basic enough for a poor or even a pre-industrialized society—especially one that eschewed foreign aid of any kind—and very little indicated anything was being used long past its working life as was a common sight in truly poor communities.

It was a good illusion, but the details gave it away.

At least to someone like Nadine.

"You sure we're in the right place," Sam murmured doubtfully from where he'd come up next to Nadine to peer over Steve's other shoulder, eying the small group of men that was beginning to gather a few hundred yards from the Quinjet. Warriors, if Nadine were to guess, judging by their guarded miens and easy but controlled postures.

"We're in the right place," she answered automatically. Steve looked back over his shoulder to meet her eye. Stepping back, Nadine moved out of his way as he stood from the pilot's seat, gesturing subtly for Sam to take over. With a sharp nod, Sam obeyed the implied instruction.

Why was unspoken. It was unnecessary.

It was in case things went poorly and they needed to make a quick getaway.