A trio of Russian MiGs fell into place behind it.
They fired on the falling missile, one after the other. As the fighter jets attacked, the missile swerved.
The powerful guns on the Kuznetsov swerved with it, delivering the final rounds.
BOOM—
The missile exploded in the air, a few hundred meters above the surface of the water. A cloud of fire turned black and then white, spraying debris across the water beneath it for hundreds, maybe thousands of meters.
“Thank God,” Ava said, gripping the rail of the deck.
“Two down.” Tony nodded, his eyes on the smoke in front of them.
“Moscow isn’t going to like that.” Natasha sounded ominous.
“I’m guessing that was the point?” Tony looked at her.
“What point? Someone is threatening Sicily and Moscow? By way of Greece? What kind of bizarre board-game strategy is that?” Ava shook her head.
Natasha touched her earpiece. “I have Danvers on the line. She thinks this had to be another missile test.”
“More targeting?” Tony asked.
Natasha shook her head. “She’s thinking that what we just saw was a demonstration of the ten-second route reset.”
“The swerving?” Tony asked.
She nodded. “Danvers thinks the guys firing the missiles are checking to see if their modifications worked.”
“And sending a Russian message in a missile instead of a bottle,” Tony said.
“Yeah, well, too bad Natasha’s tracker is in a million little pieces floating on the water now.” Ava was still watching the spreading waves of debris through the lens of the spotter. “I don’t think anyone’s going to be reading a message off of that one.”
Then she lowered her spotter and pointed out to a dark shape at the far edge of the debris, still on the water. “Check it out. Look at that boat. The one with the people watching the target site with binoculars. See it?”
“So they’re watching the debris field. A missile explodes in front of you and you’re going to watch,” Tony said. “Even us.”
Natasha frowned. “Except the Cypriot authorities restricted the whole area. Only military craft are supposed to be here now.”
“And look at the name of the boat,” Ava said. She handed Natasha her spotter, and Natasha raised it to her eyes.
“Zheleza Prizrak?” Natasha frowned. “That’s strange.”
“Remind me what that means?” Tony asked.
Ava looked at him. “Iron Ghost.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Wait—Iron Angel, that was the statue where the first missile hit, right? And this one almost came down on Iron Ghost?”
Natasha lowered the spotter. “And then there’s our hacker going on about the Red Angel.” She shook her head. “It’s all so—”
“Russian,” Ava said.
“Ah yes. The return of the great Rodina,” Tony said, raising his tablet. “Well, we might as well ask the Rodina what she knows about that yacht, then.”
He hit a few keystrokes and waited. “Nyet. There is no Russian company registered to the Federal Tax Service—which is the Russian IRS—called Zheleza Prizrak, or Iron Ghost.” He looked up. “And believe me, if there was, it would be paying more than ghost taxes. The Kremlin takes revenue pretty seriously. They’re practically the Howard Stark of foreign governments.”
“Did you try searching for Iron Angel?” Natasha asked. “Zheleza Serafimy?” She spelled it out letter by letter until he had it right.
Tony tapped out the words again. “Nyet.”
“What about Red Angel?” Ava suggested. “Krasnyy Serafim?”
More tapping. “Also nyet.”
Natasha gripped her fingers on the railing. “Maybe that’s not the name that yacht uses for the Federal Tax Service. Every ship has to register with its flag state, though; that’s international maritime law. In Russia, that’s the RS, I think. The Russian Maritime Register of Shipping.”
Ava looked at her. Natasha shrugged. “So I forged a few naval papers. Easier than passports.”
Tony pulled up the site and entered the name. “There are zero Russian ships registered through Cyprus, but there is one ship registered to Russia operating in Cyprus.”
Ava looked over his shoulder. “And?”
“The Iron Ghost. Registered to—”
Natasha held her breath.
“Wow.” He looked up. “Veraport is a subsidiary of Luxport International.”
“Otherwise known as the Red Room,” Natasha said.
“It says that?” Ava asked.
He nodded. “I’m serious. Look, that’s what the recognition certificate says. It’s apparently also the name the document of compliance was issued in.”
“Oh my God,” Ava said, staring at the screen in his hands. “I don’t believe it. We found it. The link to the Red Room and to the Faith operation. It’s Luxport, just like Ivan’s Ukranian warehouse.”
“So after Luxport, the Red Room rebranded itself as Veraport?” Tony looked at Natasha. She didn’t answer. Instead, she stared out at the smoking, debris-filled ocean. Oil still burned on the surface of the distant waves.
“Does this Veraport-slash-Luxport have an owner? Aside from the registering body?” Ava asked.
“You looking for the paperwork to actually say Krasnaya Komnata? You want to see a big red stamp with the words Red Room?” Tony studied the screen.
“I wouldn’t mind,” Natasha said, with a shrug. “Especially not when bombs are involved.”
“Fine.” He shook his head and went back to the RS archive. “Hold on.” But as he began to tap out the search terms, the screen went dark—
Tony frowned. “I’ve powered down. We lost the connection.”
Ava sighed. “I hate it when that happens.”
“No. It never happens. Not to me. Not when you own your own Stark Satellite.” He looked up to the sky, then back to the Widows. “It’s them.”
“We got too curious,” Natasha said.
“Which means we got too close,” Ava said, looking spooked.
Natasha took a breath. “All right. So tell me this: Why would a Russian company threaten its own government?”
“A message,” Tony said. “A revolution. A conspiracy.”
“A hoax,” Ava said. “A Russian company would never threaten its own government, you know that.”
Natasha nodded. “The only Russians who would threaten the Russian government are the Russian government.” Welcome to the theater of war—emphasis on the theatrics. I don’t like this game, and I don’t know this dance.
Something about all of this feels off.
“Well then,” Tony said, turning back to the water. “This isn’t an attack. It’s a puppet show.” He rubbed his face with one hand, looking exhausted. “What’s the moral of your story, little bomb?”
Natasha hated losing, she hated lying, but more than anything, she hated being a puppet. As far as she was concerned, it was time to cut the strings and get her questions answered.
Starting with this one, in particular—
God help us, where are those last three missiles headed?
A young officer, looking shorn and shaven in his uniform, raced down the deck until he reached them. He snapped to attention in front of Tony and Natasha.
“Sir, yes, sir.” Then his eyes flickered to Natasha. “Sir, yes—ma’am.”
Natasha looked amused.
“Admiral Sanchez requests that you report immediately to the bridge, sir.” The junior officer looked over to Ava. “All three of you, sir. And ma’am, ma’am.”
“At ease, sailor. All right, then.” Tony looked back at Ava and Natasha. “Let’s go pull some strings.”
S.H.I.E.L.D. EYES ONLY
CLEARANCE LEVEL X
SPECIAL CIRCUMSTANCES & INDIVIDUALS (SCI) INVESTIGATION
AGENT IN COMMAND (AIC): PHILLIP COULSON
RE: AGENT NATASHA ROMANOFF A.K.A. BLACK WIDOW
A.K.A. NATASHA RO
MANOVA
TRANSCRIPT: NEWSWIRE, EXCERPTED
CC: DEPARTMENT OF DEFENSE, SCI INQUIRY HEARINGS
[BREAKING] RUSSIA SCRAMBLES FIGHTERS AS NUKES FALL ON CYPRUS DESTROYER SILENCES SKIES WITH ANTIAIRCRAFT ARMS (AP)
(ATHENS) BREAKING: A rogue nuclear missile seemingly targeting a Russian carrier group in the eastern Mediterranean has been peacefully detonated over the coastal waters of Cyprus, without loss of life.
The Admiral Kuznetsov, the sole aircraft carrier of the Russian navy, employed so-called missile-killer weapons, as well as robust air defense measures, supported by a full squadron of MiG fighter jets. While three MiGs fired upon the descending missile, it was the Kuznetsov that finally struck the nuclear projectile only a few hundred meters above the surface of the water.
Speaking from a podium erected to address the growing crowd waiting in front of the Ministry of Defense in Arbatskaya Square, Pavel Petrov, current minister of defense of the Russian Federation, blamed Western interests for stoking the fires of international discord, before urging the crowds to seek justice.
“Those who would punish Russia will be punished. Those who would harm us will be harmed. Those would believe they can defeat us will be shown to be mistaken. The Rodina’s memory is longer and more punishing than her winters.”
Now that both the European Union and Russia have been targeted with what appear to be one arsenal of nuclear missiles, world leaders have been put on notice.
“None among us can be certain they are safe,” said Cypriot president Constantinos Louka. “Until the terrorists who threaten our international community are stopped, who knows which city of the world will be targeted next.” [Developing.]
AMPHIBIOUS ASSAULT SHIP,
U.S. NAVY SIXTH FLEET
COASTAL REPUBLIC OF CYPRUS,
THE MEDITERRANEAN SEA
Admiral Sanchez’s unlit cigar tapped out strategic places on the map while he spoke. He used words like roll back and fall out and boots on the ground and imminent threat and Ava felt like she could have been on the set of a war movie—and not the kind that ended with Wookiees getting medals.
How did I get here? To the bridge of an amphibious assault ship in the Mediterranean? Watching missiles drop and fighter jets scramble? Whose life is that?
Ava had thought she had known what she was getting into—back when she was first getting into it. Vengeance, against a man who had destroyed her childhood, her family, the love of her life, and her only chance at happiness.
It was simple, and it was fair.
It was justice.
But was that still true? Was that why she was here now? In the middle of a nuclear missile crisis?
What is happening to the world? What is happening to me?
The cigar tapped again, and she tried to focus on it.
“The Russian MiGs have vectored off. Their destroyer is maintaining a ready position, but then ours is, too. That’s all just noise. Not our primary concern,” said the admiral, in his steady Texan drawl. He had introduced himself as a self-proclaimed “big fan of the Avengers.”
It never ceased to amaze Ava, how much further celebrity got the Avengers than the fact of their own military clearances and credentials.
Natasha looked at the admiral skeptically. “If you don’t mind my asking, what’s more primary than an entire squad of deployed and angry Russians, Admiral?”
“Guangdong,” the admiral said, brusquely. “Radar’s just picked it up. That’s the next target, and it’s a real problem.” He tapped his cigar again.
Ava looked up. “Excuse me?”
He tapped the radar map on the table in front of them. “China. You want something to keep you up nights it’s not going to be Russia. It’s that one, right there.”
Tony nodded. “What’s the exact target in Guangdong?”
“Still working it out, but far as we can tell, a mostly defunct power plant. This one. Guangdong is full a’ them.”
“Mostly?” Ava asked.
“How defunct?” Natasha frowned.
“I guess we’ll find out. But that’s not our main concern now.”
Tony looked at Admiral Sanchez. “If you don’t mind me saying, Admiral, you look pretty concerned for someone with so much not to be concerned about.”
“See, that’s what I like about you, Iron Man. You’re the funny one.” The admiral nodded. “Well, son, this time it’s more about the missiles.”
“Yeah, that’s not so funny,” Tony said.
“Wait.” Natasha straightened. “Missiles—plural?”
Ava stared. “How many of them?”
“Three, looks like. In the skies now.” Admiral Sanchez dragged his cigar across the radar map, from the center of the enormous blank space that was northern Russia to the crowded coast of China. “Crossing out of Siberian airspace as we speak, which is probably for the best, given the whole carnival of crap we just watched in these waters.”
Ava looked at Natasha. “Is this a test again?”
“I don’t know,” Natasha said, her eyes narrowing as she studied the map. “Maybe? If they’re evaluating anything, I’m guessing it would be range. Looks like these last missiles will be traversing some long-range distances.”
“But that makes no sense,” Tony said. “What’s the point of a missile test that uses up your last three remaining missiles? It’s like practicing for a game you’re never going to play, or a show you’re never going to get to put on.”
“For one thing, you scare a lot of folks,” Admiral Sanchez said. “For another, you scare up a whole lot of attention.”
“Sir, you have a call.” The shaved and shorn officer who had brought them up to the bridge now stepped forward to hand the admiral a satellite phone.
“Yeah?” The admiral dropped the cigar and held the receiver to his ear. “This is Admiral Sanchez of the USS Kirby.” He listened, raising an eyebrow. Then he held out the phone to Natasha.
“That’s NASA calling, and it’s not for me.”
Danvers had been clear about the targeting. She’d run the numbers and come up with a scenario, delivered in three separate pairs of latitudes and longitudes.
By the end of the call, Natasha had asked for a satellite map of the Guangdong reactor to be pulled up on the radar table.
The individual buildings of the plant were now visible, and she had three different makeshift place markers—a saltshaker, a plastic inhaler bottle of nose spray, and the admiral’s engraved watch—balanced over the images of three different structures.
As Natasha maneuvered the map and measured off the markers, everyone else in the room stood around the table, staring at something that now resembled an enormous board game. “Look at the individual buildings of the plant,” she said, pointing. “The way the missiles are targeted, Danvers is calculating that they’ll hit here, here, and here.” She moved the watch and the salt; the nose spray was already in the right spot.
“And?” Ava asked. She was leaning her elbows on the table, resting her chin in her hands. The last time she’d slept, she realized, was when she was unconscious in the Triskelion. At this rate, I will achieve one hundred percent zombie status before the last missile is even close to hitting.
“I’m not seeing it,” Admiral Sanchez said. “That’s a dead reactor. There’s nothing there, it’s like a ghost town. At least that’s what I’m hearing from the DOD.”
“Then why bother to target it? Where’s the message there?” Tony folded his arms, still not moving his eyes from the table.
“Maybe it signifies something. I mean, it doesn’t look like a coincidence, right?” Ava asked. “Maybe it’s one of those mathematical things—”
Tony shot her an annoyed look. “Those mathematical things? Could you be more specific?”
“Come on,” Ava said, dropping her head. She was exhausted. “You know what I’m talking about, where the numbers add up to the golden mean or the eternal ratio or pi-r-squared or something—and we just can’t see it.”
/> “Once again, we know this is the Red Room messing with our heads. We know who to blame, and we know what they’re doing. Why don’t we just go rolling into Moscow, find those suckers, and end this.” Tony was ripping mad.
“Calm down,” Natasha said wearily. “We don’t know enough to say that.”
Tony frowned. “Yeah? Well, I, for one, am tired of feeling that way. For once, I would just like something clearly spelled out for me.”
“How clearly?” Ava said suddenly. Her chin was still resting on her hands, but her eyes were moving rapidly from one place to another on the map.
She sat up.
“Because if I’m not mistaken, that’s not just a pattern. It’s a letter, see?” Ava moved the saltshaker to one side of the targeted building, and the nose spray to a parallel point on the targeted building next to it.
“Not really,” Tony said.
Finally, Ava shoved the watch to the bottom of a long passage that connected to them, from two rows below—another one of the three targets.
“I think it’s literally spelling something out for you. It could just be that I’m delirious, but I think that’s the letter Y. Does that mean anything to anyone?”
She looked at Natasha.
“Red Angel. Iron Angel. Iron Ghost. The letter Y. Each having something to do with the Rodina,” Ava said. “And the Red Room.”
Natasha said nothing.
Ava kept going. “The Russian hackers. The Green Dress Girl. The Russian fountain. The Russian yacht. What does that say to you?”
“Or who,” Tony said.
Natasha stared at the table for a long moment. When she looked up, it wasn’t clarity that Ava could see in her face. It wasn’t understanding, or any particular answer. Her eyes had narrowed and her jaw had set. This was something else.
This was anger and steel and determination.
“I have to go,” Natasha said, pushing out the swinging door that led from the bridge to the narrow hall of the upper decks.
“But—” Ava began.
Tony shook his head. “No point.”
She frowned. “You think we’re going to Guangdong?”
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