Black Widow: Red Vengeance (A Marvel YA Novel)

by Margaret Stohl

  Mackey took it with a glare and disappeared around the corner.

  “Nice move,” Sana said. “Lancey. Is that your undercover identity, Agent?” She laughed, which sounded out of place in the dimly lit front office of the institutional building.

  Dante felt his face turning red again. “Laugh all you want. We’re trying to save the world—I can take a few hits.”

  “Did you need me out here?” a booming voice asked.

  Dante straightened himself tall—and Captain Cruz appeared at the desk, in full uniform. Sana sat up in her chair at the sight of him, just as Dante had known she would.

  I wish for once he could just be chill.

  But his dad always acted like that, and his friends always reacted like that. Only Alexei hadn’t been intimidated by it. Maybe it was the whole Russian thing, Dante thought. His father was not and would never be chill. Captain Cruz sometimes looked more like a guy who played a police captain on television than the real thing. His pants were ironed into perfect creases. He texted in full sentences, with punctuation. He even shined his badge.

  “Hey, Pop,” Dante said, looking up from his phone.

  Captain Cruz began to smile, but moved on into his regular stress-face before he could quite carry it out.

  “Dante? Everything okay? What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at the club?” He took in Sana, still sitting stiffly in the chair, without saying anything. Dante knew he was too good of a cop for that—but he’d hear plenty later.

  “I didn’t have fencing today,” Dante improvised. I don’t have it any days anymore, but still technically true. “That’s not why I’m here.”

  “If you don’t have fencing, you should be home doing your work or helping your mother,” Captain Cruz said.

  Ding-ding-ding!

  And it’s time to play today’s round of Why Aren’t You Helping Your Mother—

  “I will,” Dante said. “I just need to know something. It’s for a project about local crime. Drugs, specifically.”

  Also true, strictly speaking.

  He was well-versed in the art of lying to his father, and the first rule of lying to his father was not to actually lie. Captain Cruz would know the second you even tried it.

  Omit, never commit.

  That was the critical concept.

  “For school? Are the two of you in class together? Were you going to introduce your friend to me?” his father asked, pointedly not looking at Sana. “And can you put your phone away when you’re talking to me?”

  Just like clockwork.

  Dante slipped his phone back into his pocket. “Sana is a…youth advocate…taking a stand against drugs…and street crime,” he said. “She’s here to save the world, basically.”

  True enough.

  Sana stood up and approached the desk—which might as well have been the bench of a courtroom, because they were certainly being judged. “Nice to meet you, Captain Cruz.”

  She extended her hand, looking right into the captain’s eyes. “I’m with the Fort Greene Y.”

  True? In a way?

  “Dante and I are both fencers.”

  True-ish? We both know how to fence.

  “We met at a tournament.”

  True-like? From across the room, but okay.

  Captain Cruz smiled dismissively, and Dante knew they were past the first challenge. One down—

  “Have you been watching the news?” His father shook his head. “This isn’t a good time for a project. None of us are safe until these stolen missiles are locked down. And there’s a whole lot more to that than you guys can ever know.”

  We know. That’s why we’re here. That’s why we’re trying to help. We sat in a room with a black ops team and watched the missile drop—

  “I get it,” Dante said. “Completely.”

  Sana looked away.

  “We’re about to go to a red alert,” Captain Cruz said. “Red. That’s the category representing ‘severe’—the highest terror alert status we’ve had since 9/11. I can’t talk right now, and you both should get back to your homes and stay there.”

  Yeah, didn’t think so.

  Dante gave it another try, just for the sake of appearances; it seemed like the kind of thing a son would do. “But Dad—”

  “Dante. That’s it. I’m done here. I’ll see you at home. Go help your mother.” He looked at Sana. “Nice to meet you, Sandra. Good luck with the Y. I see what goes on out there, and we need all the help we can get.”

  And then Captain Cruz was gone.

  Dante and Sana left the building almost as quickly. “Well, that sucked,” Sana said as soon as they got back to the frozen sidewalk. “I can’t believe that’s your father.”

  Dante had his phone back out. He hit save and grinned. “Are you kidding? That went great.”

  “My dad has a whole new family. I don’t even live with him half the time and he’s nicer to me than that. I mean, at least he drives me around in his cab.” Sana shook her head. “Is your dad always so rough?”

  Dante could feel himself turning into a stone, the way he always did when people talked about his father.

  What do you want me to say? Because I got nothing.

  There’s no explanation, and the only person who never asked for one and never cared is dead. Okay? Does that answer the question? Can we move on?

  The only person who understands me is dead.

  He fast-forwarded through that part of the conversation in his head, which was the other thing he did when the subject came up.

  “It’s okay,” Dante said, walking faster now. “Don’t worry. We got what we needed.”

  “We did?”

  “Of course.”

  “Which was?”

  “This. We were trying to get this.” Dante held up his phone.

  Sana looked. “What are those numbers?”

  “My dad’s badge number. I already know his password, he uses the same one for everything.”

  “Old people.” Sana shook her head.

  “With that and his NYPD email, we can get into the police database. I even got a picture of the badge when he wasn’t looking, as insurance.”

  “Not bad, Lance.” Sana smiled.

  He bowed. “Any ideas where we can find a computer around here?”

  “Please.” Sana snorted. “I know how to get on a computer and get a free chocolate chip cookie. Come on.”

  A few minutes later, they were heading through the gates of Columbia and into the business school, where Sana waved at a cute blond boy behind the desk. He buzzed her in without a word, and she pulled Dante through the barrier behind her. “Fencers,” she whispered. “Hook you all the way up.”

  Dante followed her as they cut through the volunteers’ lounge, grabbed a handful of cookies out of a jar, and headed straight to the computers.

  After that, it took three minutes to get into the NYPD police database—seven minutes to find a searchable directory of precinct evidence records—four more to find the image database. (Three to watch a video about fainting goats, but they were waiting for the database to load.)

  And so, eleven minutes later, they’d found eight recorded instances of a mysterious black drug, previously unseen on the street, in altercations occurring in three different boroughs.

  The nearest was right up the street, at 134th and Broadway.

  In other words, Faith was all around them, even now.

  All they had to do was score some.

  “Maybe this is a bad idea,” Sana said, shivering. They had begun at 134th and worked their way down Broadway. Now they were almost to 120th, and they’d still found nothing. Nobody suspicious, nobody loitering. Nobody trying to score or to sell.

  “Whatever,” Dante said. “We give it a few more blocks and then we move on to the next place. Either way, we’re at least ruling something out, right?”

  “Fine. Okay, sure.” She nodded. “But my butt is freezing off and I feel like it’s going to snow, so let’s make it fast.” He
was already moving down the block.

  The closer they got to the black wrought-iron gates of Columbia’s interior campus, the more students crowded the streets. By 116th, the sidewalks were crammed full of a whole range of twentysomethings with nose rings and purple hair—or with preppy wool coats and expensive-looking leather satchels. That seemed to be the basic division.

  “Rich kids,” Sana said, sounding disgusted.

  “Probably not all of them,” Dante said, surveying the scene, “but enough so that it makes sense that there was a Faith bust here.” As he spoke, he shivered. Sana was right; now that the sun had gone down, the cold was almost unbearable.

  “Seems like college kids are stupid, and college kids party. So yeah, there probably does have to be a dealer somewhere around here,” she said, scanning the street.

  Dante wasn’t so certain anymore. They’d been out awhile, and he couldn’t feel his ears. Maybe it was time to pack it in.

  We tried. And we can try again tomorrow.

  At least we can tell ourselves that—

  “There,” Sana said, in a low voice. Dante looked up—and she panicked, yanking his arm. “Don’t look at him!”

  “How do you know that’s our guy?”

  “Bus stop,” she hissed.

  “Taking a bus doesn’t make you a drug dealer.”

  She sighed. “Are you going to make me spell it out for you?”

  He nodded.

  “He can’t risk going on campus, because he’s not a student and he’ll get kicked off. So he waits there across from the entrance, sitting on that bus stop like he’s going to get on a bus. But the bus just left, and he didn’t move.” She shrugged. “Ava and me, we’ve pulled that trick a thousand times. Bus bench, that’s the best place to nap in the city. They can’t make you leave and they can’t prove you shouldn’t be there.”

  Dante studied her face. He couldn’t even begin to imagine the things she and Ava had been through, and at his same age.

  And here I am, complaining about my family life—

  He took a breath and nodded. “Okay. I’m going to talk to him.”

  She almost laughed. “You? You wouldn’t know what to say to a drug dealer.”

  “Like you would?”

  “No, but at least I lived in a shelter. I know how to talk to people on the street, Jersey.”

  “Hey, we have streets in New Jersey, friend.” It was a dare, and he couldn’t not take it. Dante jammed his hands in his pockets and casually moved over to the bus stop. He sat down and looked straight ahead.

  “Hey, man,” Dante said, keeping his eyes focused on the street in front of him, just like he had when he had to ride the eighth-grade bus as a sixth grader. “What’s happenin’?”

  The guy on the bench, who wore a ragged army salvage jacket and a Yankees sweatshirt with the hood up, didn’t answer. He stank like the street, and for once Dante was glad that it was so cold. The freezing air seemed to kill the smell faster.

  “I’m lookin’ to score,” Dante said. It sounded like a bad line from a movie, and it was hard to keep a straight face. Plus, he wasn’t exactly sure what to say, so he just stuck to the point. “Something new. Looks like black sand. Called Faith, you heard of it?” He improvised. “Saw it at a party last weekend.”

  Yeah, right. Last weekend you were sitting in your house playing League of Legends. Same with the weekend before that. And before that. And before that—

  Army Jacket scowled. “What are you talking about, clown face?”

  “I’m talking about Faith. I’m looking for some. You know, Death Meth?” That was what one of the police reports had called it.

  “Death Meth? That’s a pretty messed-up name.” Army Jacket laughed.

  “I don’t care what you call it.” Dante shrugged. “I heard it’s mind-blowing.” As in, it blows out your mind and turns you into a zombie. Stay in school, kids—

  Army Jacket shook his head. “I don’t got any.”

  “Okay. Thanks,” Dante said. Army Jacket scowled. Oh, right. You probably don’t thank drug dealers. “I mean, whatever.” He stood up, turning his back to the guy.

  “I know a guy who knows a guy who could maybe hook you up,” Army Jacket said, but only as Dante was about to walk away.

  So that’s how it works.

  He turned around again. “Now?” Dante said. “Because I need it, like, today.”

  “No promises.” Army Jacket shook his head. “Meet me back here tonight.”

  “When?” Dante asked.

  “Midnight,” Army Jacket answered.

  “Too long,” Dante said.

  Army Jacket stood up. “Then forget it.”

  “Fine. Midnight. Make sure it’s the real thing,” Dante said, feeling a little more confident. “I don’t want to get ripped off.”

  “What, you don’t trust me?” Army Jacket looked at him, tilting his head and sweeping aside the greasy lock of straw-colored hair in his face. The look was—

  Murderous? Is that the word for it? It was all Dante could do not to run.

  “Five hundred large, right here. Midnight.” Army Jacket reached toward Dante, who froze as the dude pulled the burner phone out of his pocket. “I’ll keep this. Insurance.”

  “Great,” Dante said, already walking away. He grabbed Sana by the arm, and they fled.

  Midnight.

  S.H.I.E.L.D. EYES ONLY

  CLEARANCE LEVEL X

  CONFIDENTIAL: PHILLIP COULSON

  CLASSIFIED / FOR OFFICIAL USE ONLY (FOUO) / CRITICAL PROGRAM INFORMATION (CPI) / LAW ENFORCEMENT SENSITIVE (LES) / TOP SECRET / SUITE AB ENCRYPTION / SIPRNET DISTRIBUTION ONLY (SIPDIS) / JCOS / S.H.I.E.L.D.

  ** FILE COPY OF INCOMING TRANSMISSION ** FROM THE PENTAGON **

  Phil,

  I know you haven’t forgotten the Geneva Protocol. The Hague Conventions. The BWC or the CWC. The U.S. does not engage in chemical or biological warfare.

  Tell me there is zero chance you have any chemical, bacterial, or viral samples—on any Triskelion bases—that could be construed by the CDC as weaponized.

  In the last 24 hours, a S.H.I.E.L.D. lab facility has processed a sample that the CDC has flagged as “questionable.” The DOD and the JCOS have been alerted. Oval is next.

  I’m trying to help, but you gotta help me help you, Phil.

  ARTIE

  OFFICE OF THE JOINT CHIEFS OF STAFF

  9999 JOINT STAFF PENTAGON

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  AMPHIBIOUS ASSAULT SHIP,

  U.S. NAVY SIXTH FLEET

  COASTAL REPUBLIC OF CYPRUS,

  THE MEDITERRANEAN SEA

  Ava and Natasha watched the skies as Tony read the news off his tablet. They leaned, all three, against the upper-deck railing of an amphibious assault ship named the USS Kirby; it was the one U.S. ship in the region with an LHD (landing helicopter deck) large enough to allow the Stark Jet to land.

  Coulson had friends in every department of the U.S. military, and he had scrambled to get clearance. The six F-35 fighter jets already stacked in a row along one side of the deck didn’t exactly appreciate how close Tony came to toppling them into the ocean, but it had all worked out in the end. Even fighter pilots were susceptible to the Stark charm, especially when he wanted to talk laser modifications.

  That was the only luck they’d experienced so far. The breaking news was grim, according to S.H.I.E.L.D.—and even according to CNN.

  The second missile would hit part of a Russian carrier group in the waters just off the coast of the Greek island of Cyprus. Russian MiGs were scrambling on a course to intercept now, and the Russian carrier Admiral Kuznetsov had its infamous antiaircraft weapons and an entire air defense system at the ready.

  The attack was heralded as no accident; the Kuznetsov was rarely in the region, and was considered a high-value target. It was, after all, Russia’s only aircraft carrier—which only made the attack more grievous. The entire country was incensed.

  Sicily had already spooked the entire
world; with Cyprus, global order rested on a knife’s edge.

  “If you seek to threaten any part of the Rodina,” the Russian president told the international press, “know this: we will respond tenfold. We join with our Sicilian compatriots to stand against these cowardly acts, and we vow to protect our maritime deployments, surface and undersea. We are now a country at war, and will fight as one.”

  “And that’s coming from the guy who puts attack subs in the Black Sea.” Tony sighed as he finished reading the latest from his tablet. “He’s not messing around.”

  “We can’t just sit here and watch,” Natasha said, frustrated. “I don’t care how many MiGs are up there. That missile could take out more than just the Kuznetsov. You saw how the Monreale missile drifted. This thing could chew through a good chunk of Cyprus.”

  “Or it could be fine-tuned to hit one highly decorative Iron Angel fountain,” Ava pointed out. “We don’t know.”

  “Cyprus as a target actually makes more sense than Monreale,” Tony said as he raised a military-grade spotter to his eyes. “Cyprus is like one big Laundromat for most of Eastern Europe. You steal it, we’ll deal it.”

  “Yeah? Is that on the flag now?” Natasha asked wryly.

  Tony surveyed the coast in front of them. “I guess it’s more of an unofficial motto.”

  Ava looked at him. “Money laundering?”

  Tony handed her his spotter. “Well, last time I was there, it sure wasn’t the shirts that were all that clean.”

  “I still don’t understand why Iron Man isn’t out there Hulk-smashing those missiles out of the sky.” Ava frowned, peering through the lens.

  “Iron Man doesn’t Hulk-smash. And I offered, but I guess Russia must want to notch her own win, because that offer was firmly declined,” Tony said.

  “Of course it was. The Rodina does not need your help,” Natasha said, staring at the sky. “Or anyone else’s.”

  “Except when it does,” Tony said.

  “There,” Ava said, looking through the scope. “It’s coming. I see it.”

  The missile was visible from the water now. The steel casing flashed in the sun as it cut across the sky, a trail of white smoke spewing after it. They watched it from below this time as it headed straight into the water, picking up speed as it neared the earth.