Chapter Sixty-Eight: Ivan Prepares to Depart

Ah, just take it one step at a time—let’s get the Space Gem first, and then see what really happens. Right now it’s all just idle speculation, and there’s no way to figure it out by brooding; everything feels vague and intangible. Zhong Shenxiu pondered for a long while and finally sighed inwardly, resigning himself to his fate.

As for his intermediate-level electrical energy skill, it was just a passive trait that had been dulled by too much vodka, and for now, it was useless in building any device to locate the Space Gem.

So he still had to wait for Ivan Vanko’s arrival. According to his plan, Ivan should be on his way already—probably packing his suitcase at this very moment, getting ready to set out for Queens.

Zhong Shenxiu thought about this, then felt for the elderly cell phone he always carried with him. The SIM card inside was the one he used to contact Ivan Vanko; after this conversation, he’d destroy it.

Still lacking skilled scientists… If only Tony Stark could work for me.

Pfft… At that thought, Zhong Shenxiu laughed at himself. Tony, a billionaire with a flamboyant personality like his, working for him? Impossible.

——

At this very moment, in Moscow.

The clamor of trains shunting seemed unending. Ivan Vanko emerged from a narrow alley, three newly forged identity cards in hand, making his way toward home.

Ever since that day at the hospital, Ivan had made his decision: he would go to Queens and meet the mysterious stranger.

First, his father’s illness was far from cured. Even with hospital treatment, there was still a significant risk of surgical failure. Yet the stranger had been able to help his father effortlessly, with no wounds or scars left behind.

Ivan understood—the mysterious man unquestionably possessed the ability to heal his father completely.

But Ivan did not have such power, and the reason was simple: the stranger did not trust him. In his heart, Ivan realized this was the man’s way of keeping control—a ploy that was barely even a secret. After all, it was only at the stranger’s repeated urging that Ivan had even taken his father to the hospital.

Yet, despite this revelation, Ivan was no longer the naïve boy he once was.

He did not feel anger; on the contrary, he found it all perfectly reasonable.

If their roles were reversed, Ivan was certain he’d make the same choice as the mysterious stranger.

That’s what it meant to be a mature adult.

If the man had been a brash, arrogant youngster with a bit of power but no sense, it wouldn’t matter how much he offered Ivan—he’d never set foot in Queens for him.

But the stranger’s demeanor only put Ivan further at ease.

He was increasingly convinced that this bold decision, perhaps the last of his forty-odd years, was the right one.

Lost in thought, Ivan found he had arrived at his front door. He pushed open the aging door, its rusted hinges creaking.

Inside, the place was as chaotic as ever. Mechanical parts of every kind littered the floor, just as they had since his childhood. Amid the cluttered corners, a modest suitcase sat quietly.

That was all the worldly possessions of Anton and Ivan Vanko.

Of course, Anton had tried to sneak in a dozen bottles of vodka, but Ivan had caught him and thrown them all out.

Anton, sulking at this, looked up as Ivan returned and asked, “Ivan, where are we off to?”

“America. Queens,” Ivan replied, enunciating every word.

“Ameri…” The word, laden with bitter memories, dredged up old feelings for Anton. Through gritted teeth, he said, “Howard… I’m not going. I’ll never set foot in any place that man has been!”

Ivan had anticipated this and patiently explained, “Howard Stark has been dead for years, and besides, we’re not going there for him.”

“Then why are we going so far?”

That question left Ivan silent. Truth be told, he still had no idea what the mysterious stranger wanted of him, or what task awaited him there.

Hopefully it would be a simple job...

“Oh right, Ivan, I just remembered: after I was deported, I was banned for life from ever returning to the United States.”

Ivan chuckled, baring his teeth. “It’s fine. I’ve already arranged forged identities. Here, this card: from now on, you’ll be Anton Klink, and I’ll be Ivan Klink.”

“And who’s Wanda Klink?” Anton asked, noticing there were three ID cards.

I have no idea either. That guy told me to add her. Could he really have summoned me all the way to Queens just to help him forge a fake ID? Surely not… No one would go to such lengths for something so trivial these days…

“It’s about time. Let’s go. If we head to the airport now and wait a bit, we’ll be able to board soon.”

Ivan checked the time. His home was not close to Moscow Airport, so to be safe, they had to leave early.

After all, waiting is waiting, wherever you are. Better to be early than risk missing the flight.

Besides, Ivan was running out of cash. His biggest impression since coming out was how prices had soared; after fifteen years, twenty thousand dollars no longer stretched the way it used to.

Now, with that money, Ivan felt as though he’d bought nothing—just a hospital visit, a few fake IDs, and two one-way economy tickets, and it was nearly gone...

He was struggling to keep up with the times—

Ivan couldn’t help but sigh inwardly.

Moreover, although for some reason the authorities hadn’t issued any alerts about their escape from prison, Ivan knew he had to be prepared. If, out of the blue, his face appeared on a nationwide wanted list, he might not be able to flee at all.

So, the sooner the better.

“What’s in the bag?” As Ivan was lost in thought, he noticed Anton sneaking toward the door with a backpack that occasionally clinked. He quickly spoke up.

Anton said nothing, looking at Ivan like a guilty child.

Seeing this, Ivan understood immediately. He went over, opened the bag, and found it crammed with clear bottles of vodka.

“I told you, we can’t bring that. What airline lets you carry alcohol?”

“Fine…” Anton muttered, finally tossing the vodka on the floor in resignation.

Ivan’s gaze swept over him. “And the bottles on you.”

At this, Anton looked at Ivan with surprise, but, even more reluctantly, produced several small, flat bottles of vodka from his coat and pockets.

Clink, clink—they soon formed a pile on the floor.

Looking at his father, who seemed to regress with each year, Ivan rubbed his brow, feeling a headache coming on.

After everything was ready, Ivan prepared to head for the airport.

But as his gaze fell on the blueprints for the Arc Reactor, Ivan hesitated for a moment, then returned and tucked them into his backpack.

“Let’s go. To Queens.”