Doctor Eskrine, may God rest his soul, was a man that wouldn’t simply pass from this mortal coil. Good or ill, his name passed in whispers everywhere Steve seemed to go. Rumors about the perfect man he built in a lab from the ground up. Hushed theories about cover ups, hoaxes and the like. Far off threats and promises of figuring out his life’s work. Most were nothing more than talk. This, however, was a very legitimate. The Howling Commandos tour across Europe left them with a letter, a plan and a name.
A British woman. A doctor. Someone that was a devoted fan of Eskrine it seemed. Enough to draw in Zola’s attention. More than enough to warrant a visit. Even a simple warning while they blazed a path through the Hydra and Nazi occupied land. Howards resources alone made locating the woman simple enough. Knocking on the door, not so much.
Sightings of the Commandos was rare when there were no explosions coming from all sides. Later, hopefully. Steve’s hung his shield on his back, an effort to appear less threatening while not wielding a weapon. He let himself in - apologies were easier than permission - and announced his presence. “I’m looking for a doctor Simmons.”