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Tony faded in and out of consciousness for a long time. When he could finally focus again, he was in a cave. The doctor stood a dozen yards away, stirring a bubbling pot over a small gas-fired furnace. It looked like he was working on an experiment. Flickering fluorescent lights dangled overhead. A closed metal door seemed to be the room’s sole exit. Dirt, grease, and blood stained the doctor’s yellowed smock. He had a tanned, wrinkled face, gray hair, and thick glasses. He glanced over as Tony stirred.
Tony looked at his chest and gasped. Some kind of bulky metal machine protruded from beneath his fresh bandages.
“What have you done to me?” he asked.
The doctor stopped stirring the pot. “My name is Yinsen, and what I did is to save your life. I removed all the shrapnel I could, but there’s a lot left and it’s headed into your atrial septum.” He picked up a jar from a nearby shelf and tossed it to Tony. “Here, want to see? I have a souvenir.”
Tony, who was no longer strapped down, caught the jar and winced. It was full of shrapnel. His chest felt very, very strange.
“What is this?” he asked, looking down at his chest.
“That is an electromagnet, hooked up to a car battery, and it’s keeping the shrapnel from entering your heart.” Tony looked at his wound and suddenly felt sick. He looked away from it at the nearby car battery. Then he noticed a security camera perched high on the cave wall.
Yinsen nodded. “That’s right. Smile.”
Somehow, Tony didn’t feel like smiling.
“We’ve met once before,” Yinsen continued, stirring the pot, “at a technical conference in Bern, Switzerland.”
“I don’t remember,” Tony said.
“You wouldn’t,” Yinsen replied. “If I’d been that drunk, I wouldn’t have been able to stand.”
Tony brushed this off. “Where are we?” he asked. Before Yinsen could answer, a metal slat in the middle of the door slid back, revealing two menacing eyes.
Yinsen stopped stirring. “Stand up!” he hissed at Tony. “Do as I do. Now!”
Tony tried to stand, but couldn’t manage it. Yinsen dropped his spoon and helped Tony up. Before Tony could ask what was happening, the door swung open and a tall, powerful-looking man entered, flanked by two armed henchmen.
The man began speaking in Arabic and Yinsen translated. “Abu Bakar says, ‘Welcome, Tony Stark, the greatest mass murderer in the history of America. It is a great honor.’ ”
Abu Bakar held out a surveillance photo showing an image of the Jericho missile test. He continued talking.
“You will build for him the Jericho missile you were demonstrating,” Yinsen translated.
Tony took a deep breath. His chest ached dully. “I ... refuse,” he said.
Yinsen leaped forward and slapped Tony across the face. Yinsen’s eyes burned with anger. “You refuse?” he raged. “This is the great Abu Bakar! You are alive only because of his generosity. You are nothing. Nothing! He offers you his hospitality, and you answer with insolence? Obey him or you will die!”
Tony’s cheek stung. He took a step back.
Abu Bakar chuckled. Then, with a nod of satisfaction to Yinsen, he turned and left. The guards went with him. As the door slammed behind them, Yinsen let out a sigh of relief.
“Perfect,” he said. “You did very well, Stark. Good.”
Tony sat back down on his cot, confused.
Yinsen smiled. “I think they’re starting to trust me.” He returned to his kettle. Tony realized suddenly that Yinsen wasn’t working on an experiment—he was cooking.
Tony’s stomach growled. “What’s next?” he asked.
Yinsen shrugged. “We’ve reached the end of my plan,” he said. “From now on, we improvise.”
The next day, guards came for both of them and led them, hooded, through the cave passages. Tony walked blindly for long minutes until one of Abu Bakar’s henchmen yanked the smelly hood off of his head. Blinking against the sudden light, Tony found himself in a valley surrounded by tall mountains. The day’s brightness stung his eyes, and it took him a moment to process all he was seeing.
Skids piled with weapons surrounded him. All of the munitions—some dating back twenty years—bore the Stark Industries logo. Abu Bakar said something.
“He wants to know what you think,” Yinsen said.
Tony shook his head in disbelief. “I think you got a lot of my weapons.”
Abu Bakar spoke again.
“As you can see,” Yinsen translated, “Abu Bakar has everything you will need to build the Jericho. He wants you to make a list of materials. He says for you to start working immediately.”
Tony looked around the valley, his eyes settling on a man nearby. He recognized the man from military briefings; he was a warlord called Raza—a leader of the Ten Rings rebels.
“When you are done,” Yinsen said, still translating, “he will set you free.”
“No, he won’t,” Tony said, keeping up a smile for appearances.
“No,” Yinsen agreed quietly. “He won’t.”
General Gabriel walked alongside Rhodey as he picked through the charred wreckage from the ambush. “What a mess,” the general said, shaking his head.
“Something’s not right,” Rhodey said.
“It looks like a standard hit-and-run to me,” the general replied.
“Sir, I’m telling you, this was a snatch-and-grab,” Rhodey insisted. “As soon as they got what they wanted, they melted away—and what they wanted was Tony Stark.”
“Intel’s on it,” Gabriel said. “If Stark is out there, we’ll get him back.”
Rhodey took a deep breath. “General, with your permission, I’d like to stay and head up the search.”
“Negative,” Gabriel replied. “Right now, the best way for you to serve your country is to get back to the United States and handle the firestorm of publicity.”
“Tony Stark is the Department of Defense’s number one intellectual asset,” Rhodey countered. “I can be of more value in the field, getting him back.”
“Duly noted,” the general replied. “But we need you back home.” He turned and walked toward his staff car.
“Lieutenant Colonel,” he called back, “it is not lost on me that you and Stark are lifelong friends, but—in this instance—there’s nothing I can do.”
A few days later, Tony, wrapped in an army surplus blanket, sat next to Yinsen’s portable furnace. Yinsen was cooking again. Tony wondered if he ever used the furnace for anything else.
“I’m sure your people are looking for you, Stark,” Yinsen said, “but they will never find you in these mountains. What you just saw is your legacy—your life’s work in the hands of these murderers.”
Tony said nothing.
“Is that how you want to go out?” Yinsen asked. “Sitting silently in a cave? Is this the last act of defiance of the great Tony Stark? Or are you going to try to do something about it?”
Tony rubbed his head. “Why should I do anything?” he asked. “They’re either going to kill me now, or the shrapnel will kill me in a week.”
Yinsen looked into his eyes. “Then this is a very important week for you.”