Natasha's eyes scanned the crowd of people in the marketplace from under the hood of her shawl. She needed a child, preferably a girl. No older than ten. She'd read Bruce's file, he was the type of man to fall easily for this sort of ruse. A flicker of movement caught her eye. She looked over without turning her head. There was an alleyway near where she stood. From there, a small girl emerged. She seemed to be holding something in her hand. The child crouched behind a pile of crates next to a stall selling bread. She quickly stood up while the sour-looking woman in the stall wasn't paying attention and gently tossed the object in her hand in the woman's direction.
The moment the object hit her, the woman jumped.
"Rat!" she screamed. The corner of Natasha's mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. Even from this distance she could see that it wasn't a rat at all, just a small, white mouse. The woman tried to get it off, but the struggle just made it harder for the mouse to go anywhere at all. During this commotion, the girl darted out from behind the crates and took a loaf of bread from the stall, moving the one next to it over to make it appear that none were missing. The child then dashed back into the darkness of the alley.
This was the kind of child Natasha needed. Pulling her hood lower, she started to follow silently. It wasn't long until she reached her. The girl's back was to her, so Natasha dug the toe of her sandal into the dirt to make a noise. The child whirled around, holding the bread behind her back.
Agent Romanoff lowered her hood. The girl's eyes widened.
"American!" she exclaimed.
"Russian, actually. I saw you steal the bread," said Natasha, in perfect Hindi.
The girl froze. She slowly shook her head. "Please don't hurt me."
"I'm not going to-" the girl took off running. Natasha cursed and followed. After weaving through alleys and down side streets, the girl dove into a small crevice in the wall of a building. The spy sighed. She hadn't really been trying to capture the girl. That would just make her feel threatened. Natasha knelt down next to the crevice. It was a tight fit for the girl, and impossible for someone of Natasha's size. She reached out her hand.
"I just want to- oww!" The agent yanked her hand back. The child had bit her. "It's okay, I won't hurt you. I just need you to do something for me." She could barely see the girl because of how far back she was, but Natasha thought she saw her shake her head. She tried another tactic.
"I thought that was very clever, the way you distracted the woman in the stall."
"I noticed she was afraid of rats," came a small voice from the shadows of the crack.
"It was a very good plan. But it seems like a lot of effort for some bread," said Natasha, trying to get the girl to open up a little.
"It used to be easier. I was the distraction," muttered the girl. Natasha could start to see the girl's hand, a bit of her faded, dusty dress. She must be moving closer to the opening.
"Did someone else do the stealing?" asked the spy.
The hand shrank back. "You just want to punish me for taking the bread! I'm sorry! I was hungry . . ."
"I understand," said Natasha. "I don't live here, but I think that if you're so hungry you need to steal, that bread means more to you than it does to that woman. I promise I won't do anything bad to you if you come out."
Slowly, the child crawled out of the crevice. She looked up at Natasha with wide eyes.
"You're pretty," she said.
"Thank you," Natasha replied, surprised. Feeling like she should say something else, she replied, "You're pretty too."
The girl shook her head vigorously. "My brother always said I must never ever look pretty, or else bad people might try to take me away."
The spy nodded, trying to suppress memories of her own childhood. "Your brother was smart. Is he the one that used to do the stealing?"
The girl's lower lip wobbled. "He's gone now."
Feeling that they should move on to a new subject, Natasha moved her drawstring purse into view. "I have money in here," she said. The girl's hand twitched.
"Don't try. No one can steal from me. But I'm glad you thought about it. It means you're the right kind of person I need for a job I need done."
The girl really looked in danger of crying now. "A bad person?" Suddenly, Natasha flashed back to the first time she had killed in the Red Room. She had been only a little older than this girl was. She had been kneeling on the floor, sobbing, thinking that she was a terrible person and wondering why she had done it. Then the sharp, electric shock to get her to stop crying reminded her. Her hand clenched.
"It's not your fault you have to steal. You're hungry. And you're not a bad person, you're a resourceful one. That's the kind of person I need."
The child no longer looked in danger of crying anymore.
"Look." Natasha pulled out a hand-drawn map of the city streets and a pen from her purse. After a moment's contemplation, she marked the spot where they were in red ink. "We're here, okay? I need you to go here-" she circled a building, "-and ask if they've seen an American doctor."
"An American doctor? I've heard of him. I was trying to find him when my brother got sick," said the girl.
"Uh, that's probably the one. Chances are he'll still be at that house, but if he's not, come back here tomorrow in the morning and see me again. If he is there, lead him here." She drew a line from the first house to a house at the very edge of the city.
"I'm not telling him that you're meeting him there, am I?" asked the girl. The question seemed mostly rhetorical.
"Clever girl. Tell him someone is sick, and lead him to this house, okay? Then come back and meet me here tomorrow to get money. I'll give you some now, if you promise you'll do it."
The girl looked ready to agree, but then she hesitated. "Why?"
"What?" asked Natasha.
"Why do you want me to do this? I don't want the nice doctor to go away."
Natasha paused, thinking of the best way to say it. "He'll come back. I need him to help me and some of my friends to find something very important. It needs to be him. If we do find it, my friends and I can do a lot of good. And the nice doctor will come right back after. Is that okay?"
The little girl thought about it, then nodded. "That's okay."
"Here, take the map," said Natasha.
The girl studied the map for a few moments. "I don't need it."
"What?"
"It's in my head now."
"Are you sure?" asked the spy dubiously.
"Yes," she answered with complete conviction.
"All right, then," Natasha answered. This girl was a little gem of wasted potential.
Natasha pulled money out of her purse, and the girl's eyes widened. It was enough to buy six of the cheap loaves of bread that she had stolen. She handed it to her. "There's more when you come back."
The girl looked at the money like she was being handed life itself. Natasha stood up, and the girl followed. "Wait ten minutes, and then do what I told you to, okay?" Then, she did something she hadn't planned for. Natasha reached into her own pocket and pulled out some of her own spending money and handed it to the girl. "In the meanwhile, get yourself something nice."
The child nodded, looking dumbstruck at the small amount of money in her hands. She suddenly threw her arms around Natasha's waist and hugged her. The assassin was taken aback. She couldn't remember the last time a child had ever hugged her.
When the girl pulled away, she was still beaming. She turned and ran off, clutching the money tightly in her hand. Natasha watched her as she ran, wondering what the child's life would be like. Would she die young, or live penniless until she grew old and died? In this space of the city, it was unlikely that she'd ever rise far above homeless status. But it was possible, she supposed. Especially a bright girl like her. She shook her head. She'd been far more affected by the encounter than she should have been.
Natasha had a mission. She should get back to it.