Faces of Bucky Barnes - More One Shots

15. Island Recluse

It started out as rumours; someone was offering a big commission to find an individual and write an investigative article about him, a man who was an enigma from the time his identity had been connected with the infamous assassin known as the Winter Soldier. The man, Bucky Barnes, had defied all attempts in the second half of the 20th century and then another decade into the 21st to find and neutralize him. The longest serving PoW ever recorded, he had been kept as a prisoner of HYDRA, changed into a super soldier, tortured, brainwashed, then forced into becoming an assassin, taking out whoever HYDRA ordered him to, until his final mission. That was the one where he was ordered to kill his childhood friend, Steve Rogers. His own memories had resurfaced, fought the programming that forced him to kill. He saved his friend and, in the process, helped to bring down the secretive organization that were this close to taking control of the world. Then Barnes, after helping the next Captain America, Sam Wilson, defeat the Flag Smashers kind of fell off the radar. He left New York, moved to Louisiana for a while, then just disappeared.

There were sightings of him; running a bar in the Maldives, operating a fishing boat charter in Huatulco, Mexico, even a rumour he had opened a restaurant in Thailand but by the time anyone wanting a piece of that commission got there he was gone, like the ghost he was thought to be at the height of his assassin years. When I got a mysterious email, offering me, Maya Riggs, still struggling to pay my college tuition, the chance to join in the search for the elusive Barnes I jumped at it. This was my chance to prove I could work with the big names in journalism; find the clues that would lead me to Barnes, then write about the chase, and perhaps about the man. My reward would be a cool 10 million, as well as the title of the writer who cracked the mystery of where Barnes was.

Two years later I was on the cusp of what I was sure to be the biggest story of my life. I was in a seaplane flying in a long sweeping arc over a remote crescent shaped island in the Bahamas group of islands. On the aircraft's final approach towards the multipurpose dock that seemed to be the only access point to Lunatum Island I noticed the thick foliage on the small but lush isolated refuge. It was thicker than I expected, almost as if it was saying I was going to have to dig deeper to find any answers. As the pilot skillfully landed the small aircraft on the calm turquoise waters, the seemingly endless white sand beach looked like it extended forever but I knew from looking at maps that the beaches were only present on the inner part of the small crescent shaped isle. Still, when it's the only land for many miles it could feel bigger.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" asked the pilot, Jerry. "You're fortunate to come here. It's very exclusive and I can count on one hand the number of people I've ever flown here."

"Yet the resort can hold a good two dozen guests," I replied. "How do they get here?"

"Personal aircraft," he said. "Not by charter, not mine at least."

A man on the dock waited for us, signalling the pilot when he was close enough to the dock, then stepping onto the pontoon with a rope to fasten the plane to the structure. The man, with light brown hair smiled as he opened the passenger door.

"Miss Riggs? I'm Curtis. Welcome to Lunatum Island. Your publisher sent a radio message that your pickup will be in one week. Jerry here will return for you then. We're just waiting for an outgoing guest to get here. If you want to wait in the shade, there are some refreshments in ice for you under the trees on the beach. You'll go back on the golf cart with Antoine. I'll bring your luggage."

So much for coming here incognito. I had already lined up a publisher for a travel story on the mysterious island resort, convincing them to pony up the money to stay here. It wasn't cheap, more than a year's tuition at many prestigious colleges. But I was certain that I had the final destination of James Buchanan Barnes. That commission check would be mine.