Black Widow: Red Vengeance (A Marvel YA Novel)

by Margaret Stohl

  “Yes,” Alexei said.

  Natasha looked up. “Istanbul? Yeah, I wasn’t going to say it.”

  “She doesn’t want to scare you,” Alexei said.

  Ava shook her head. “I’m not going through that again. Not what happened in Istanbul.”

  Natasha looked pained. “It’s not the same. It won’t be. Ivan’s gone.”

  Alexei’s gone.

  “I’m not. I’m right here. Don’t do this,” Alexei said.

  Ava shook her head. “No. We have to do something.” She looked up at Natasha. “Let’s torch them. Blow it all and get out of here.”

  “What?” Natasha sounded surprised.

  “You heard me. Let’s use Tony’s PropX and blow this whole place to ash.”

  Alexei looked at her sadly. “That’s not how it works, Ava.”

  “Listen to yourself, Ava.” Natasha took the ComPlex out of Ava’s hands, packing it away.

  “I’m tired of listening.” Ava’s hand moved to her blades. “Maybe we don’t even need the popper. You know what these things are? Not just steel. Pure energy. If I get one of these blades even close to those missiles, we could probably take this whole place down.”

  “Then what? What happens after that?” Even Alexei looked panicked.

  “You’re talking crazy and we don’t have time for crazy,” Natasha said. Already she was shoving Ava toward the door.

  Ava pulled away, shaking her off. “Think about it. The drugs, and the weapons. Why not blow one of the bad guys off the map?”

  Natasha shook her head. “It’s not that simple.”

  Alexei shook his head. “It’s really not.”

  “You always say that.”

  “I do not,” Natasha said.

  “No, I don’t,” Alexei said.

  Natasha grabbed Ava’s arm again. “Look, you have to play a longer game. A long con, as Tony says.”

  “Nobody’s playing anything. Not with these stakes,” Ava said, looking back at the missile room.

  “You want to blow the warehouse? Fine. But all you get out of that is a crater in the ground and a bunch of stuffed body bags—with a radiation cloud that will drift from here to India.”

  “Now you’re being dramatic,” Ava said.

  “Should we talk about the fallout? Remember Fukushima? There is as much radiation in the U.S. now as there was in Japan when the reactors first blew. In five years, that toxic cloud crossed the entire Pacific Ocean.”

  Ava didn’t say anything.

  “She has a point,” Alexei said.

  Natasha shook her head. “You want to take down a whole black-market network? Actually stop one of the Big Bads? You use what you have, right in front of you.”

  Ava looked at her. Now she was surprised. “The bombs?”

  Natasha pulled a smooth, slate-colored disc out of her pack.

  “What is that thing?” Alexei stared.

  It looked like some kind of DVD, except that when she held it against her hand, her personal handprint illuminated the surface for a moment—and the object sprang to life, now flickering with a series of five pulsing green dots.

  “This is a tracker,” Natasha said. “My tracker. Made out of the same tech that the major airline companies use for their black boxes.”

  “Is that another one of Tony’s patents? I don’t remember seeing it in class.”

  Natasha scoffed. “You think you guys get all the good stuff?” She slapped it on the side of the missile. “The second someone tries to launch this thing, we’ll know where it’s coming from, where it’s headed, and we’ll take it out before it ever lands. We don’t just want the missiles. We want the guys who bought them, the guys who sold them, the guys who fired them.”

  “Yeah, but you don’t care about the people they take out, on the other end? What about those guys?”

  “The DOD has been intercepting crap like this since before you were born. In our atmosphere or even beyond it,” Natasha said. “It’s why we have a missile defense system. So do Russia, China, Israel, India, France…I mean, these are standard ops.”

  “Bombs? Standard?” Alexei whistled.

  “The guy on the pointy end might not feel the same way about it. Or is that what S.H.I.E.L.D. would consider an acceptable loss?” The idea was incomprehensible to Ava.

  Natasha attached another tracker. “I just want to know who’s calling the shots. Big fish to fry. If these stolen missiles track back to Ivan’s network, I want proof.”

  “Big, deep-fried proof,” Alexei said, examining the tracker.

  Ava was unconvinced. “The only thing that’s going to get fried will be the poor schmuck on the receiving end of these things when you let them back out into the wild.”

  But it was too late. There was no point in arguing. Natasha’s mind seemed to be made up; in fact, she had attached a S.H.I.E.L.D. tracker to each missile now. “We can debate it back in Rio.” Natasha glanced out the window. “Let’s go.”

  “They’re coming. Stairs. Now,” Alexei said.

  Ava sighed, but she let Natasha pull her through the first doorway, then the next—past the missiles, past the drugs, out the door into the fading light of the jungle sky. Finally, they had reached the rickety balcony, at the head of the even more rickety external stairs leading up to it. All they had to do now was get down the stairs and make their way across the clearing, back into the coverage of the jungle.

  Cake, Ava thought, though she knew she was lying to herself.

  As they began down the stairs, a voice floated up from the clearing, and they stopped moving.

  A Russian voice.

  A man.

  “No,” Alexei said.

  “I’m not a sentimental man, but my brother was. Soldiers. They’re all the same. They have to make even a pig’s life and death into something meaningful. To pigs,” the voice grunted.

  It’s familiar.

  “No, no, no,” Alexei repeated.

  The sound of clinking glasses followed the man’s words.

  A toast. They’re drinking.

  Celebrating.

  “Ah, but you’re the pig, Yuri,” a second voice growled.

  Ava froze.

  Yuri.

  The manifest from Maks’s apartment was right. That must be why the voice seems so familiar.

  Ivan’s brother is here.

  “Ava, no.” Alexei shook his head. “Keep going.”

  The first voice scoffed. “My brother may have been a bastard, but he was a glorious bastard son of the Motherland. What we do now, we do to honor him.”

  More clinking, more grunting.

  “True—”

  “Aye—”

  “To Ivan—”

  “Old dog—”

  Half a dozen of them, at least. So there’s a crowd down there.

  Yuri and his men.

  The second voice chimed in. “We will have a thousand heads for every soul, every soldier we have lost. We will have vengeance—and the Somodorov name will be feared throughout the world.”

  “We have to go,” Natasha hissed at Ava, shoving her down the stairs in front of her. Ava moved silently, wide-eyed. “Run. Now!”

  “Listen to her. Get out of here! Go!” Alexei shouted.

  Natasha shoved Ava as hard as she could, and the stairs shook beneath them.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Ava said, the moment they were safely through the exposed clearing and back into the protective coverage of the surrounding jungle. “That’s Yuri Somodorov.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Alexei said, from the shadows. “You have to get out of here.”

  “We think it is,” Natasha said. “We’ll watch and listen. We’ll make certain.” She rotated one arm as she spoke, trying to put her shoulder back into place. She didn’t look good.

  Ava paced back and forth, picking her steps between the twisted roots of the immense trees surrounding them. “No, we know it’s him. You know we both recognized that voice. He might as well be Ivan’s twi
n.”

  Natasha sighed. “Am I going to have to knock you out and drag you back to the chopper on my back? Because I’ll do that. You know I will.”

  “You know she means it. And you know she’s right,” Alexei said. “Even all busted up, she’ll carry you out of here if she has to.”

  “What I know is that we both heard the name,” Ava said. “His name. Yuri.”

  “Right.” Natasha looked at Ava meaningfully. “So this is the part where we confirm what we’ve heard. We make a tactical plan. Support. Backup. Electronics. Firepower. That’s how this goes down.”

  “Or, we go in there and thump him right now—” Ava’s hands were already on the grips of her blades.

  “Not an option,” Alexei said.

  Natasha stepped in front of her. “No. We’re not going to take him and his arsenal of radioactive ballistics and his army of trained mercenaries alone. Not you and me, not like this. I can’t take them all out, not injured—and you don’t know what you’re doing.”

  Ava was still pacing. “We can’t leave him there. We have to stop him. All those weapons. The drugs. Look at him—”

  “Or just don’t,” Alexei said.

  Natasha looked.

  In the distant shadows, at the bottom of the stairs, where soldiers still lounged around metal tables, a man walked a few paces apart from the others and lit a cigarette.

  The smell was unmistakable, and it wasn’t the Marlboro Man from the storage room. It was the distinctive scent of a particular brand, popular in the Ukraine. Ava found herself holding her breath. She would never forget that smell, and she knew Natasha wouldn’t, either.

  Belmorkanals. Ivan’s favorite smokes.

  The hound at Yuri’s feet began to growl. His head snapped in their direction. Now he was barking, baring his teeth.

  I don’t care. I’m not afraid of you.

  Light flashed through the clearing as Ava spun her blades—

  Now Ava’s blades were fully extended, both the long blade and the short. Their iridescent blue light spilled in every direction.

  I hate you, just like I hated your brother.

  Natasha shook her head, holding out her hands. “No. You don’t want to do this, Ava.”

  “Listen to my sister,” Alexei said.

  “I’m pretty sure I do,” Ava said, not even looking back at her.

  Natasha took a step closer. “You’re not. You aren’t ready to shoulder that kind of guilt.”

  “You know she’s right,” Alexei said.

  “Guilt? You don’t know what I feel. You don’t know what’s on my shoulders,” Ava said, backing away from Natasha.

  You don’t know I spend every day with ghosts.

  The Somodorov name is death to me.

  A death I’m still living.

  “I understand you’re frustrated, but you don’t get it. You’re still just a kid.” Natasha reached out to grab her arm—but Ava swung her blades in front of her with a flash. The blue electricity flashed and surged, all around her.

  Back off—

  Natasha took a step back.

  “A kid?” Ava scoffed. She had always had a good parry; she’d come to rely on it even more since she’d come into her powers, though she’d always known how to keep people at a distance.

  “A kid?” Ava took another step away from Natasha. “The thing is, sestra? I’m not. And the sooner you figure that out, the easier this is going to be for both of us.”

  “AVA!” Alexei shouted.

  Before Natasha could answer, Ava began to sprint back out into the clearing.

  “Ava—Ava wait—” Natasha cursed and followed.

  But there was no waiting. No stopping. Nothing she could do to change what was about to happen. Ava knew that, and Natasha knew that.

  Yuri Somodorov might have heard the commotion coming from the edge of the clearing, but he didn’t look up in time to see her coming.

  “AVA—NO—” Alexei was still shouting.

  Ava flung herself into her advance, when she was still meters away. The scream was bloodcurdling, the attack was vicious. The blades went high over her head, and she hesitated, only for a second—

  POP POP—

  Two neat red stains blossomed across the man’s chest, one after the next, in a steady, precise line.

  The default double tap of Natasha Romanoff’s training.

  “Der’mo—” Alexei said.

  Ava stumbled to a stop as the man she hated most in the world sank to the dirt, lifeless, and the closest thing she had to a sister dropped her rifle after him.

  She froze, standing motionless until she heard the distant sound of Russian voices beginning to shout.

  Alexei’s voice was in her ear. “Move. Now.”

  She felt Natasha yank her back into the shadows of the underbrush, and the two Widows sprinted and tumbled through the root-ridden, uneven jungle floor, not stopping until they once again reached the chopper.

  Even then, as the chopper lurched up and into the sky and the dark tangle of green shrank in the distance beneath them, Ava could only think one thing.

  My God, what have we done?

  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 ROMANOVA

  AAA HEARING TRANSCRIPT (TEXT EXCHANGE)

  CC: DEPARTMENT OF DEFENSE, SCI INQUIRY

  COULSON: Op status?

  ROMANOFF: Op site was hot and heavily armed 4-plus warheads/smuggling op.

  ROMANOFF: Returning w/ product samples.

  COULSON: Warheads? Pls confirm.

  ROMANOFF: Nukes.

  COULSON:…

  ROMANOFF: + yuri somodorov.

  COULSON: Ys is at the op site?

  ROMANOFF: not anymore—game-time call.

  COULSON: Uncle sam sends condolences.

  ROMANOFF: Uploading recon images will use chopper secure nav-link only.

  COULSON: Need a house call to secure op site/cleanup.

  ROMANOFF: Negative—site is still hot & not secure.

  COULSON: Repeat?

  ROMANOFF: Warheads still in play.

  ROMANOFF: Needed a dangle—see who bites.

  COULSON: Will ruffle a few feathers around here sparky with you?

  ROMANOFF: Affirmative—AO is not happy—wants to pick more fights with bad guys.

  COULSON: Sounds familiar.

  ROMANOFF: I was happy to fight good guys, too.

  S.H.I.E.L.D. EAST RIVER TRISKELION

  THE GREAT CITY OF NEW YORK

  Five thousand kilometers north of Manaus and nearly a dozen gritty, sleep-deprived hours later, Natasha stared down at her bare, muddy feet. They never tell you how dirty the life of a spy really is—

  She studied the generic gray tile floor of the institutional shower beneath her toes, letting the water splash off her bloody head and damaged shoulder.

  Is that what I am? Am I a spy or a hero?

  Natasha had known what she was before the Avengers Initiative had come along. A Russian. An orphan. A Widow. A spy. A killer. A mess. A cynic. A defector. An American. A stone. A weapon.

  But since the Avengers, this whole business of saving the world had confused everything. As they had become household names across the planet, Natasha had become something more, at least to some of the population; more often than not, she’d been celebrated as a hero, even. And while other times she’d been called a villain or a vigilante (depending on the political climate of the moment), that never mattered to her, not personally. People could call her whatever they liked, and she could care less. Natasha Romanoff was a big girl. Growing up in the Red Room had seen to that.

  But lately, Natasha had found herself wondering if she wanted something not better or worse—just less. Or at least, less public. Hard to pull off covert ops when your face is on billboards—r />
  When Natasha had found Alexei, she had once again become something different, a sister, and she knew some small part of her had remembered and understood. She found her way all over again as she showed it to her little brother, just as she had when they walked to grammar school together along the Moskva River with their patched wool coats for warmth, their pails of butterbrots to eat, and their Heroes of the People textbooks to study.

  But when the Red Room had swallowed her brother and left Natasha to walk the rivers with only Ava, the world and her place in it had changed yet again.

  What is Ava to me?

  And which Natasha Romanoff will take responsibility for that?

  As Natasha stood in the shower back at base, she didn’t feel like any of her previously lost or found selves. She didn’t feel like she’d been very heroic or particularly strategic or even sisterly. She felt tired and impatient and powerless, especially compared to that Veraport weapons depot.

  Everything I did, every single thing, in South America was wrong.

  The water blasted over her and the dirt and the soot and even the occasional leaf or twig swirled around her ankles, turning into mud—so much so that she thought she might have to move to another shower, as if S.H.I.E.L.D. plumbing was no match for the aftermath of an Amazon Basin op gone south.

  And Ava’s probably clogging up my apartment plumbing now. I should have made her shower here before I sent her back to Little Odessa.

  But eventually, the layers of ash and exhaustion and perspiration and face paint dissolved away. At least the base’s hot water was hot, unlike so many other S.H.I.E.L.D. facilities; by the time she got out, Natasha was beginning to feel better. Her toes were turning pink again and her ears had almost stopped ringing. When she finally pulled a pair of clean, black S.H.I.E.L.D.-issue sweatpants over her sore legs, and a clean, gray S.H.I.E.L.D.-issue T-shirt and fleece over her aching shoulder, she was a new person.

  Almost.

  Only the muddy boots gave her away, as well as the ragged gash on one side of her head—and profound darkness inside it. As Natasha left behind her little room and made her way down the halls and up the stairs that Alexei and Ava had escaped from, not so long ago, her mood only became darker. Get your story straight. They are going to want to hear about more than the view from the Cristo—