Black Widow: Forever Red Page 8

  Ava flinched. When she tried to remember Odessa, she might as well be stepping on a jumbled pile of broken glass. Only the fragments remained.

  Electrodes burning. Rope cutting at my wrists and ankles. Needles digging into my skin.

  The black-eyed monster.

  “Red Room?” Ava said sharply. “What’s that?”

  “Krasnaya Komnata?” Natasha shrugged as she stood up to face Ava, like it was nothing, but Ava recognized the words from her own dreams. They still made her shiver.

  Natasha looked at her. “Those were the people Ivan worked for. The Red Room is also where Moscow’s innocents are raised to be black-hearted spies like me. If you want to talk about not getting to choose.”

  Of course I don’t, thought Ava.

  And just like that, I’m alone in 7B once again.

  Like always.

  Natasha looked at her. “If I can get through this, you can too.” She raised a single eyebrow, almost smiling. “We’re the same, remember?”

  Ava remembered.

  She remembered those exact words, spoken in Russian, by her great rescuer. That was it. Something in her snapped. She couldn’t take it, not another second.

  She punched the Black Widow in the face as hard as she could.

  For once, Natasha Romanoff didn’t see it coming.

  S.H.I.E.L.D. EYES ONLY

  CLEARANCE LEVEL X

  LINE-OF-DUTY DEATH [LODD] INVESTIGATION

  REF: S.H.I.E.L.D. CASE 121A415

  AGENT IN COMMAND [AIC]: PHILLIP COULSON

  RE: AGENT NATASHA ROMANOFF A.K.A. BLACK WIDOW, A.K.A. NATASHA ROMANOVA

  TRANSCRIPT: DEPARTMENT OF DEFENSE, LODD INQUIRY HEARINGS

  DOD: Speaking of Russian orphans, you were born in Stalingrad?

  ROMANOFF: That’s right.

  DOD: I’m surprised to learn even that much. There isn’t a lot of background in your background file, Agent. Even your birthdate is redacted.

  ROMANOFF: Yeah, I’m not a big birthday person.

  DOD: And what’s this reference note that says See Rogers, Steve and Barnes, James?

  ROMANOFF: [shrugs] They don’t let me read my own file, sir. I guess I don’t have that level seven clearance.

  DOD: I’ll summarize. When your parents die, Moscow sends you straight to spy school. The Red Room. The pride of the SVR. You and every other lucky orphan of the state.

  ROMANOFF: Oh, very lucky. You could say I won the orphan lottery, sir.

  DOD: Is that where you met Ivan Somodorov?

  ROMANOFF: That’s where he met me. Looking back, I didn’t have a whole lot of say in the matter.

  DOD: As much say as he had in how you tried to blow him up? Looking back?

  ROMANOFF: I believe that’s called karma, sir.

  PHILLY CONVENTION CENTER ROOFTOP

  THE CITY OF BROTHERLY LOVE

  Natasha Romanoff was still reeling from Ava’s left hook when the door to the roof burst open. It swung wide, and the figure that came rolling through it landed on his feet.

  Natasha’s instincts erupted into movement, and she flung herself into attack position. Fists high, center of gravity low. Legs bent, like a predator ready to spring. Reflexively, she glanced over her shoulder to Ava, standing a few feet away.

  Just have to keep the kid from getting hurt—

  But to her surprise, the kid seemed plenty ready. In fact, Ava had assumed the same attack position as Natasha. She was the mirror image of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent herself. Their instincts were identical. Fists high, gravity low. A Systema pose—all Red Room combatants were trained in the classic Russian martial art. Which was strange, Natasha thought, considering only one of them had been trained there.

  She frowned.

  Seriously. It’s not exactly Krav Maga. Even if the Secret Service uses it—would an orphaned Ukrainian immigrant girl?

  It was like having a shadow—and Natasha Romanoff wasn’t used to having a shadow. She was so startled she almost forgot she was under attack.

  “Ava!” A guy’s voice.

  Natasha whipped her head back to their would-be attacker, who was now standing in front of them. Ava was nearly as fast.

  But the assumed threat appeared now to be no threat at all.

  “Look. It’s a puppy. I think he’s lost.” Natasha sighed, relaxing to a standing position. She recognized him right away, and not just because he was the boy Ava had been flirting with at the tournament.

  “Alex? What are you doing?” Ava sounded pretty shocked.

  “Is this like, some kind of self-defense class?” Alex frowned, looking from one attacking Russian to the other.

  “No,” Ava said.

  “Yes,” Natasha said.

  They looked at each other.

  “I don’t believe you,” he said slowly. “So why don’t we all go back downstairs and talk to the USFA about it?”

  Natasha noticed that the boy—Alex—didn’t drop his fists. Not even now.

  Great. Not only a puppy. A junior Avenger puppy.

  Just what I needed, on a day like this.

  “Alex,” Ava said, straightening back up. “Everything’s okay. Really. I don’t need you to rescue me.”

  “Aw,” Natasha said. “That’s so cute.” The word was withering.

  “I asked your friend where you went and she got super sketchy on me. Said you weren’t even registered for the tournament.”

  “I—forgot. We got to talking. We were—catching up.”

  “You forgot to register for the NAC. Who does that?”

  “She does,” Natasha said with a scowl. So the kid isn’t an idiot. That isn’t going to make anything any easier.

  “What conversation is worth missing the chance to compete at a national tournament?”

  Ava glared. “A little hypocritical, don’t you think? Mr. Black Card?”

  He shook his head.

  “Well, good on you, super sleuth,” Natasha said, sounding annoyed. “You’ve checked it out, and she’s fine. Now go away.”

  Ava looked at Natasha—then at Alex. “I am,” she said. “Really. And again: I usually rescue myself.”

  Or I do, Natasha thought. Ava shot her a look, as if she knew what the agent was thinking.

  But Alex still didn’t drop his fists.

  Now Natasha watched as he sized up the situation, taking in his options. Junior Avenger. Not an idiot. Stubborn as hell. And worried about Ava.

  Interesting.

  She shook her head. “Don’t try it.”

  “Try what?” Alex asked, edging a few steps closer.

  “Whatever you’re thinking. I’m pretty good at taking the immobilizing shot. Right hamstring. It won’t kill you, but you’ll wish it did.” She shrugged.

  “I’m not too worried.”

  “I don’t think you understand,” Natasha said. “It’s not a suggestion.”

  “Distance and speed. Momentum and angle of impact,” Alex said, looking her right in the eye.

  “What about it?”

  “You just have to think it through. You know. Before.”

  “Before what?”

  “This.” He drew a breath, rolled into a crouch, and exploded toward Natasha. She wasn’t expecting him to be able to move so quickly.

  Still, being Natasha Romanoff, she moved more quickly and struck first—or was about to. But the moment before impact, she could feel the muscles in her jaw and shoulder tense, her center of gravity shift—and she watched in amazement as Alex read her perfectly. As perfectly as she was reading him. They matched each other, step for step, ducking blows, weaving between kicks, neither one landing a hit.

  She was holding back—of course she was holding back. She wasn’t going to destroy Ava’s little friend.

  But all the same, she hadn’t been expecting this.

  He seemed to sense exactly what she was going to do and to anticipate how she was going to do it, just as she did with him.

  Finally he caught her fist in his hand. The two of them loo
ked at each other, equally surprised.

  Natasha shoved him off.

  He’s good. Very good. Very interesting.

  Alex released her hand and spun, sweeping his leg. She avoided him effortlessly, anticipating the move.

  “Ty suma soshla,” Natasha muttered. You’re crazy.

  “Whatever that is, I don’t speak it,” Alex said. He didn’t seem afraid of her, which she found intriguing.

  Also annoying.

  Natasha dropped her fists. “I don’t have time for this game, little Alexei.”

  Ava interrupted. “Really? Because I don’t have time for any of this.” Now she was the one who sounded irritated.

  “Leave Ava alone,” Alex said to Natasha. “I know you’re after me.”

  Natasha laughed. Ava did not.

  “Seriously? You? Why would she be after you?” Ava was insulted.

  “Why is the CIA ever after anyone?” Alex studied Natasha. “I saw you. This morning. You were following me.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself. I was following her,” Natasha said, motioning to Ava.

  “I don’t believe you,” Alex repeated. “So I’m going to say it one more time. Just let her go.”

  “Oh please. I’m not CIA. Don’t insult me.” Natasha raised an eyebrow. “And besides, I don’t negotiate with kids—so shove off, kid, before you hurt yourself.”

  “Rude,” Ava said suddenly. “You don’t get it, do you?”

  “Me?” Alex looked surprised.

  “Yes, tell him,” Natasha said.

  Ava glared. “I meant both of you, actually. I don’t want to be rescued. I’m not some hopeless girl with a big fat target on her forehead. I can fend for myself.”

  You have no idea, Natasha thought, how big that target is.

  “That’s not what I meant,” Alex insisted.

  But—almost as if the universe wanted to drive home the point—a fraction of a second after Ava spoke, a shot rang out across the rooftop.

  The bullet missed Ava’s right temple by less then a centimeter.

  The second bullet knocked her backpack off her shoulders.

  The third whizzed past Alex Manor’s head, clipping off a tangle of wavy brown hair. It drifted to the ground with an almost surreal slowness, like a falling leaf in a breeze.

  Nothing else about the moment was slow.

  Natasha Romanoff spun in the direction the shots came from her eyes narrowing as she calculated the trajectory of the rounds—

  One o’clock.

  Top floor.

  Across the intersection.

  Angle’s off by maybe forty degrees.

  —and she dove forward, yanking Ava down as hard as she could, until they were both lying flat against the asphalt roof.

  Alex dropped right next to them, not a moment later.

  “What the—”

  Three more rounds answered him.

  “Sniper,” hissed Natasha, grabbing for the bag she had taken out of hiding just before the bullets began to fly. She could feel her brain speeding up. “Sounds like he took his silencer off for better range, which means he’s at least a building or two away.” She looked up, running the numbers in her head. “He’s clearing what, four hundred meters? And hitting within maybe a half inch of target? Point five MOA? Or point three?” She shook her head.

  “Is that bad?” Ava asked.

  Natasha was grim. “Bad for us. It’s a tough shot. So that’s a highly trained military marksman. A pro, probably top dollar. Russian, I’d say—maybe an Orsis T-5000, from the sound of it.”

  “People are shooting at us?” Alex was in shock. “At a fencing tournament?”

  “Not us,” Ava said quietly. “Me.”

  Her eyes met Natasha’s. “He’s here, isn’t he?” She sounded like she could hardly breathe.

  Natasha shook her head. “I doubt it. Not in the flesh.” Now she looked over her shoulder, taking in the skyline across from the roof. “But this is probably his guy. The profile fits.”

  Now do you believe me, kid? Is that real enough for you?

  Ivan Somodorov hasn’t forgotten either one of us.

  Ivan doesn’t forgive, and Ivan doesn’t forget.

  Natasha pulled off her sunglasses and tossed them into the sky above them. A series of shots ripped through the air in rapid succession, and the glasses shattered.

  She sighed. “Correction. His guys, plural. Looks like he’s got at least three on us.”

  “Whose guys? Who is he?” Alex’s eyes narrowed in anger.

  Natasha ignored him, examining a bullet hole in the cracked surface of the cinderblock wall. “Look at that. Congratulations, Ava. They pulled out the big guns—those are .338 Lapua Magnums.”

  “Which means?” Ava asked.

  “Moscow only likes a Lapua for high-value targets. You’re a hot commodity. Those rounds don’t come cheap—and Lapuas can eat through five layers of military body armor, so keep your hands in the car, kids.”

  “Can someone fill me in here? Snipers? High-value targets? What are you talking about?” Another shot rang out, and Alex ducked even lower, smacking his face against the asphalt.

  “There isn’t time to explain. Like I said, shove off, kid. You aren’t part of this, and you don’t want to be.” Natasha studied a row of windows in a bank building down the block. She drew out two weapons from the bag—a compact-looking automatic assault weapon and a submachine gun—and crawled toward the low wall of the rooftop. “Stay down—”

  Ava nodded, crouching low. Natasha snaked past her.

  Good. The girl might be scared, but she’s not showing it.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Natasha saw Alex’s hands instinctively curl into fists, though there was no one to use them on.

  I hear you, buddy.

  She knew how frustrated he felt, which is why she was rarely without a gun. Or three: her assault rife, preferably a CZ 805, for real gunfights; her submachine gun, a PP-2000, for more discreet firepower; her HK P30 pistol, for always. Czech, Russian, German. The pistol was always German, even when she traded her HK out for her Glock. Just like Ivan taught her.

  Which is why she’d use it on him, as soon as she found him.

  She reached over her shoulder to yank the submachine gun from her back strap and rolled toward the ledge in one fluid motion.

  Goodnight, Moon.

  Without another word, Natasha Romanoff began to fire back at the sky.

  S.H.I.E.L.D. EYES ONLY

  CLEARANCE LEVEL X

  LINE-OF-DUTY DEATH [LODD] INVESTIGATION

  REF: S.H.I.E.L.D. CASE 121A415

  AGENT IN COMMAND [AIC]: PHILLIP COULSON

  RE: AGENT NATASHA ROMANOFF A.K.A. BLACK WIDOW, A.K.A. NATASHA ROMANOVA

  TRANSCRIPT: DEPARTMENT OF DEFENSE, LODD INQUIRY HEARINGS

  DOD: According to this family tree, you’re a descendant of the bloodline of the last czar of Russia.

  ROMANOFF: Every Russian family line ends in a czar. That’s the only way the genealogist gets paid, sir.

  DOD: Does every Russian family have a lost fortune worth billions?

  ROMANOFF: Enough of them. Consider it a Russian fairy tale.

  DOD: So would that be a yes or a no, Agent?

  ROMANOFF: Is this supposed to be some kind of joke, sir?

  DOD: It goes to motivation, Agent. Some members of our task force believe Ivan Somodorov’s interest in you was about more than the Red Room--and more than just physics.

  ROMANOFF: He wanted me for my czarist gold? That’s the best you can come up with?

  DOD: Gold is gold, Agent.

  ROMANOFF: Maybe to the capitalists, sir. Not so much to the physicists.

  DOD: Tony Stark seems to have no problem with it.

  ROMANOFF:If I had a piece of czarist gold for everything Tony Stark has no problem with--

  DOD: We’d all be in Boca, Agent.

  PHILADELPHIA STREETS—

  DOWNTOWN PHILLY

  THE CITY OF BROTHERLY LOVE

&
nbsp; The bullets didn’t stop coming.

  They ripped across the roof, streaking past their targets by millimeters.

  Ivan brought the big guns. Ivan wants me back, Ava thought, her palms cold and sweaty. Even his name made her want to retch.

  No one will come for you, little ptenets. No one cares. Ava shook his voice out of her head.

  “Der’mo,” muttered the Black Widow, shaking her head. “They’re toying with us now. They’ve hit wide too many times in a row.”

  “I thought you said it’s a tough shot?” Ava said, her voice low.

  “Not for these guys. They’re just keeping us busy now, which means someone else is on their way to us. They don’t want to kill us, they want to take us in. Looks like we’re too valuable to kill.” She nodded her head toward Ava. “At least some of us.”

  “How do you know?” Alex asked.

  “Because we’re not dead,” Natasha said, matter-of-factly. “But we’ve got to get moving.”

  “Are you serious?” Alex asked.

  “As the grave.” Natasha shoved Ava in the direction of the door. “Now go—get inside.”

  Ava felt her heart hammering as she sprinted and dove behind the cinder-block walls housing the stairwell. Alex followed right behind her. He wasn’t going anywhere, no matter how much Natasha wanted to get rid of him.

  He will, Ava thought. He’ll leave. They all do. My mother and father and even Natasha Romanoff.

  It’s the one certainty in my world.

  That everyone leaves and there is nothing I can do to stop it.

  But as Ava looked back over her shoulder, she saw that Natasha Romanoff wasn’t behind them. Instead, she was discharging her weapons in the direction of the unseen snipers, only ducking behind the cinder-block walls when her magazines emptied.

  She cursed and dropped both of her guns.

  Natasha reached behind her back, pulled her pistol out of the waistband of her pants, and rose again from behind the cinder blocks, firing at the unseen enemy.

  This isn’t happening, Ava thought. Also: How many guns can one person keep in their pants?

  Now Natasha was shouting back at them. “On my signal, do exactly as I say. I’ll be right behind you. If they get the drop on me, you get your butt back to 7B and lay low. Got it?”

  “What about him?” Ava asked, meaning Alex.