Epilogue

                                    

                                          

"I don't give a damn what you think! You German bastards said he was unbeatable!" Elisio Fernandez shouted at The Triumvirate. "And look," he rewound the tape, "yet, there he is, getting his ass handed to him by a fat kid and a football player who got a D in Chemistry!"
"We told you, the clone must have been defective, but not through the fault of our genetic engineering. If you hadn't allowed the filthy little jude tamper with the equation—" Dr. Krüger protested.
"Now listen here, Kraut!" General McMillian interrupted. "Dr. Hammerstein is the man when it comes to genetic engineering and cloning, the alterations he made to the original formula were absolutely necessary."
Big surprise, defending your brother in law... Fernandez thought.
"If I had been given more time—" Austin started, but Elisio wasn't in the mood to hear it. He'd heard the spiel too often.
"You still would have failed to bring the Russians into the fold, only now we know, it didn't matter anyway!" Elisio boiled.
Austin made a move to talk again, but Elisio headed him off:
"You said Obermann was the solution to all our problems. But now we know, that even if you could have gotten the Russians, Obermann's brainwashing techniques were as unreliable as yours! Not to mention that hulking moron of his wasn't worth a damn either, he got his head cut off by a pop star! My daughters have fucking posters of that skinny little bitch on their walls and he toyed with Obermann's 'greatest creation'!" Elisio took great care to put as much sarcasm into the last words as he could muster. "It seems these Nazi bastards are only good at making half-baked super-assassins and losing!" Elisio finished.
Years of pent-up frustrations now released, Elisio leaned back in his chair, arms folded, and resigned from the conversation.
"Fine. I demand we call for a vote." Austin retorted.
Silence, as everyone realized he wouldn't give up this time.
"It's like you said, we have no other options. The Russians lost control of Obermann. Obermann lost control of his attack dog. The Agent is compromised. Not to mention, the whole damn world saw the Rivera kid use his abilities on TV. We agreed that, in the event of a 'Behind the Curtain' scenario, we'd immediately deploy the Trojan Eagle protocol. All this chatter is just stalling." Austin continued
"Mr. Andrews, while I'm sure you're confident in your brainwashing techniques, perhaps it's best to play ignorant." The lame-duck President said.
"I. Call. For. A. Vote." Austin insisted.
"Austin, you can't be serious! He isn't ready! He's still a teenager and I thought we agreed we'd only use him when he was an adult." Sarah pleaded her case.
"Not only is the kid not ready, wasn't he supposed to team with The Skinwalker? Another one of our recently defeated assets..." Elisio rejoined, eager to agree with Sarah
"I assure you, Herr Fernandez, our Eagle is quite ready to leave the coop." Mr. Tiedemann disagreed.
The Nazi licked the palm of his hand to slick back his hair with a smug smile, being the only member of the Triumvirate who had enough hair left to style. 
"I call for a vote." Austin said again.
"Fine. All in favor of enacting protocol Trojan Eagle, say 'Aye'." The president announced.
"Aye." A chorus of voices led by Austin Andrews replied.
Son of a bitch, I think they have enough. I don't like the grin on the faces of those kraut bastards...
"All opposed say 'Nay'." President Richardson said.
"Nay." Elisio answered, his voice only joined by that of Sarah Hanover.
"The 'Ayes' have it. I'll begin the protocol forthwith. When will the 'Eagle' be able to see us?" The President asked.
"Right away, President Richardson." Mr. Von Gräfin spread his hands in supplication, before pushing a button on the console of his wheelchair armrest. "Frau Inga, bring us Der Adler." 
The pneumatic lock on the conference room door hissed open and in stepped Inga, the hulking Swedish bodyguard of the Triumvirate with a jaw stronger than Elisio's that wore a harness over a military tank top and her long blonde hair done in two tight braids. Behind her, walked him. Six foot four, two-hundred and twenty-five pounds, his hair a bright yellow and his eyes a cold, dead blue, as the Germans always reminded them.
"Howdy, y'all". He announced with a big, practiced grin, his eyes not moving an inch.
The Eagle of the Triumvirate was laboratory-perfected to be a carbon copy of the original Golden Eagle. But Elisio knew, even on his worst day, John Smith was more than twice the man Michael Arnson could ever hope to be.