69: Chapter 69 Hydra's Weapons (3)

He did a quick web search.

A geneticist, sure enough; father German, mother Italian.

Went to the United States for college, and after graduation worked at—you guessed it—some mysterious private lab.

Later he left the United States, settled in Italy, and occasionally gave expensive invited lectures.

That was probably how he made a living.

He looked very old, even older than Uncle Ben.

There was no public address, but a webpage showed that a week later he would be giving a speech at a university in Italy, titled something like "Genetic Enhancement: The Future of Humanity".

Peter tapped his chin.

This was a mystery, and he loved solving mysteries most.

He had to figure out what this man knew.

He could have turned into Spider-Man and interrogated him directly, but if Peter Parker was seen heading to Italy, and right after that the lecturer was tracked down—any fool could guess the connection.

He had to slip into Italy without anyone knowing.

He needed a private jet.

He glanced at the clock; it was close to midnight.

Perfect.

He dialed Tony's number.

It connected almost instantly: "Yo, Little Spider, is there anything I can help you with?"

"Can you do me a favor?" Peter asked with a smile.

A week later.

On Tony Stark's private helipad, Felicia and Uncle Ben accompanied Peter.

"Peter, are you sure you have to go?" Uncle Ben asked with a worried expression, "I thought you were having a great time staying at the Baxter Building."

Peter told him and Aunt May that he was going with Tony to visit Stark's factory in Italy to experience the technology there—which was naturally a lie.

"I am happy, Uncle Ben. I'm just a little curious about Mr. Stark's factory," Peter shrugged, "Don't worry, nothing will happen. I'm with Iron Man, after all."

"That's exactly what I'm worried about," Uncle Ben muttered, "Trouble sticks to that man like a magnet—"

"—I promise Peter will stay well out of the way, right, honey?" Felicia winked at him.

"Of course, honey, I promise," Peter smiled.

"I still don't understand how you know Tony Stark." Uncle Ben looked at Tony, who was waiting by the airstair.

"I told you, he's Susan Storm's friend, and I asked her for a favor," Peter shrugged again, "Relax, Uncle Ben, I promise everything will be fine."

Uncle Ben sighed, stepped forward, and hugged him: "Alright. Make sure you're careful, you hear, Tiger?"

Peter stepped back and nodded: "It's a deal."

"Good. Well, I'll get going, you two say your goodbyes." Uncle Ben winked at Peter and turned to get into the car.

Felicia crossed her arms and glared at him sideways: "What is this really about, Tiger? Don't feed me that factory tour nonsense, I'm not that stupid."

Peter laughed: "I wasn't planning on fooling you, Kitten."

He sighed: "This matter... is a bit private."

"I'm your damn girlfriend, private matters are my business," she lowered her voice.

"I know," Peter nodded, "I promise I'll tell you everything when I get back. But I have to settle this first, and I have to go alone."

He met her gaze, and eventually she relented.

"Fine. But swear to me you'll take me with you next time," she said fiercely, "And you have to buy me shoes from Italy, you hear me? No cheap stuff, I want those ridiculously expensive black ones."

Peter smiled, reached out to wrap his arm around her waist, pulled her close, and kissed her lightly.

She let out a soft hum against his lips and stepped back a moment later: "Come home early."

"You got it," Felicia smiled.

Peter chuckled inwardly; she had no idea how much she looked like the future Mary Jane right then.

Watching her and Uncle Ben's car drive away, Peter hurried up the stairs of the plane and seated himself next to Tony.

"Any problems?" Tony took a sip of whiskey.

"Nothing I can't handle," Peter shrugged.

The cabin door slowly closed, and the engines began to warm up.

"Speaking of which, you still haven't told me the real purpose of this flight," Tony raised an eyebrow.

"You're right, I didn't," Peter remained silent.

"You have to understand, I can order a turnaround," Tony threatened, "Just a word to the pilot and we won't budge an inch. By then you'll just have to figure out another way, maybe Thor can give you a ride on his way—"

"My parents researched the Super Soldier Serum," Peter interrupted him.

He would have to say it sooner or later anyway, and if he didn't, he'd be annoyed to death for the entire trip.

"What? They shouldn't be very old—"

"Not the original one, I mean they tried to replicate the serum. And," Peter paused, "I think they succeeded."

Tony's gaze swept over his arm: "Is that stuff what was injected into you?"

Peter nodded: "Some version of it. But something went wrong in the middle, and the organization they worked for wasn't made of good people. My parents got scared, went into hiding, and then... died."

Tony swirled the amber liquid in his glass: "What does this have to do with us going to Italy?"

"The chief researcher, Herbert Wyndham. My parents thought he was the one hunting them down. He's in Italy now."

"Alright then, we'll go find him," Tony smiled.

"No."

"No?"

"No. This is very personal. Tony Stark cannot be seen interacting with Wyndham—he's too conspicuous and will scare the fish away. I'll go myself."

"Wearing your red and black suit?"

"No, a ski mask will be enough. Nobody needs to know I went there."

"So you're using my plane to avoid leaving an immigration record, right?" Tony asked.

Peter nodded.

Tony grinned: "I've always wanted to be an international human smuggler for once."

Ten hours later, they arrived in Italy.

Tony managed to get Peter past airport security, and then drove to the university where Wyndham was going to give his lecture.

The streets of Rome were breathtakingly vibrant everywhere: street performers, musicians, and pretty girls in short skirts.

Peter admired them silently.

Tony dropped him off on campus, deciding to take the opportunity to inspect the factory in Italy and do something actually useful.

Peter said he would call if he needed help.

He stepped onto the campus and looked around cautiously.

Most of the people around him were much older than him, but fortunately he was tall enough not to stand out awkwardly.

He sneaked into the hall where Wyndham was about to speak and sat down in a corner seat in the back row.

Not long after, the target walked in.

The speech was in Italian.

Fortunately, Peter actually understood some of it and managed to follow along barely.

The content could be called insightful.

To be honest, this old man's level could make Susan Storm feel inferior—though he was also sixty years older than Susan Storm.

If Peter hadn't been certain he was connected to his parents' deaths, he might have rather appreciated him.

When the speech ended, Wyndham excused himself and left.

Peter trailed far behind, watching him talk with the principal, shake hands with a few students, give some career advice, collect a check, and then walk out of the school gates.

Peter acted as S.H.I.E.L.D. Agents had taught him.

Natasha always complained that his stealth skills were subpar and kept pulling him out of crowds—but Wyndham was just an old man, not an international spy.

Wyndham got into a car and drove onto the street.

Peter flicked a spider-shaped tracker onto the hood and watched him drive away.

That night, Peter tracked the signal to Wyndham's residence.

He changed into a black ski mask and casual clothes, carrying burglary tools borrowed from Felicia.

When he borrowed them from her, she didn't even ask for a reason.

He loved this woman to death.

The house was equipped with a security system, the best kind on the market, silent yet deadly.

He connected his SA to the telephone line, hacked into his wireless network, and used that to hack into the security system, shutting it all down.

His skills in this area were getting stronger and stronger.

He used Felicia's laser glass cutter to slip into the house silently.

The ceiling became his thoroughfare, and he crawled rapidly to the living room like a gecko.

The living room door was half-open, with light spilling out.

The study was antique, with bookshelves on three walls, and two armchairs surrounding an open fireplace.

Wyndham was sitting in one of the chairs, drinking alone by the fire.

Peter spotted a computer on the desk behind him.

He slipped silently into the study, crawled along the wall to the other side of the room, and slowly lowered himself to approach the computer.

He pulled out the copy disk capable of scanning and copying all files and plugged it into the port.

"So, you're planning to leave without even saying hello?" Wyndham spoke up suddenly.