Chapter 2: A Fresh Poison Each Week

Romania: Location, Classified

The cargo plane's engines roared in the background, a constant soundtrack to travel that Phil had long become immune to. It wasn't his favorite method of travel; the back of cargo planes were often too loud and too cold in comparison to normal commercial flights. The comparison was worse between his current surroundings and the cushy comfort of private travel on the newly created Quinjets, however the cargo plane was the first available transport and Coulson's life wasn't focused on comfort. If it was, he would have followed his mother's advice and chosen a more 'small town' profession instead of his supposed 'traveling businessman' career or at the very least gone into teaching like his step-father. His father had been a mechanic, a simple but honest living that provided them with a kitchen full of food, a roof over their heads and a piece of land with enough room to hold the attention and imagination of a growing boy. In the end, the picturesque slice of Americana had proved no more safer than his current profession; monsters really could appear anywhere.

"There's something I wanted to run by you," shouted Crewe over the noise as he crossed the cargo hold to sit next to Coulson. He pulled the harness over his shoulders snapping the buckle into place. "I was doing some digging on Barton."

The nonchalant way Crewe passed off the investigation one of Phil's assets sent a wave of unease through him. Fury had left Barton mostly up to his discretion, but the Director always had another angle and his displeasure at Phil for dragging his target home like a stray dog hadn't gone unnoticed. He could only hope Barton passed his evaluation so neither of them would have to find out what that angle was. "You're investigating Barton?"

"I am."

"Fury has you doing it?"

"He does," stated Crewe, a cold hard fact devoid of emotion.

"We're supposed to be a team. That doesn't seem very team like," tried Phil, knowing it was a half-hearted complaint at best. Damian's skill came from the fact that he could forgo personal attachments and work independently; Fury's perfect little killer.

A disingenuous smile played at his lips. "I'm not a team player. In fact, I was specifically employed because I'm not a team player. I could put a bullet in your head while looking you in the eyes Coulson, and afterwards, I'd walk away with a smile on my face and a bounce in my step. I'm a finger collection away from being a sociopath, so yes, Fury asked me to keep an eye on things. I work for Fury, doing what needs to be done, so people like you can stand there and quote Captain America and talk about lines that shouldn't be crossed because you won't have to. If that makes the two of you uncomfortable that's too bad."

"That's a little cold. What did you find?"

"A birth certificate."

"That's not unusual and SHIELD already has one on record for Barton."

"I know. But this one puts Barton at two years older than what he claims to be. He's not stupid, despite his best efforts to convince everyone he is, so it's not like he shouldn't know how old he is. He's the age of majority so there's no point there. Thing is, the one SHIELD has is the copy from his school registration for kindergarten and that's the one that makes him younger. It's also the one that's on record at every point after that. Hell, the police report from his parent's death has him saying he's six years old. Odd thing to lie about, and incredibly difficult for a six year old to falsify."

It was something that piqued Phil's interest. Barton had an impressive array of fake passports and other documents from his mercenary days, and while the Barton family had a lot of discretions to hide, their youngest's birth certificate shouldn't have warranted. "I'll look into it further."

"That's kind of my job..." started Crewe.

"I said I'll look into it further, thank you Agent Crewe," snapped Phil, Crewe raising his hands in surrender.


From plane touchdown to the crime scene took no more than twenty minutes with police escort. The pair were greeted by an overly enthusiastic agent who was so new and so green, they were practically neon. "Good evening gentlemen, I hope your flight was pleasant." It was a bubbly greeting that was more appropriate for a base inspection than actual field work. "My name's Agent Caroline Ray and I was posted at the door to wait for your arrival."

Coulson smiled which had appeared as a polite greeting began to vanish as they stood there inquisitively staring at each other. Phil hopped he had never actually behaved like an untrained puppy during his first years with SHIELD. "Lead the way agent," he huffed when she showed no sign of taking the initiative herself.

"Oh right," she stammered, looking slightly embarrassed as she scrambled to lead them up the steps of the large manor house. The bricks were old but holding up, a testament to the secrets within that Coulson was now going to have to try and extract.

The crime scene analysts were out in full force, documenting every square inch of the gruesome display as the trio entered. Phil had seen a lot in his day, the squeamish feeling at the sight of blood long being driven from him, but this was looking like overkill. "Agent Miles," called Ray to a man directing the scene. "Agents Couslon and Crewe from HQ, sir."

The man looked up and waved the new arrivals over. "Dismissed Agent Ray." Phil sauntered over while Crewe went in the opposite direction towards the bodies splayed on the floor and around the dining room table.

Coulson offered his hand. "Agent Miles. What can you tell me?"

Miles ran a hand over his tired face. "I've seen a lot of things in my day, but nothing like this blood bath."

Phil glanced around the room, cataloguing the carnage without focusing on the morbid details just yet. "A situation that got out of control?" The feeling that he was chasing another dead end was starting to well in his gut. The Black Widow was stealthier than this. Her kills were precise and with purpose, but this looked like a free-for-all.

"We don't have all the evidence in yet but what we do know for sure is that these were the heads of a trafficking ring that the Russians were trying to negotiate with. An informant put the Black Widow arriving in town the same time as Bagrov, one of the Red Room's agents who was sent here to negotiate."

"What were they trafficking in?" asked Coulson. For all Phil's research, the Black Widow had started her career with mass murders, graduating to precise assassinations in the last few years. Her work was hard to detect by virtue of skill and the secrets she had to have amassed was something any intelligence agency would envy. To think she would have botched and intel gathering mission here so badly would be disappointing, which meant there was another facet to his mark.

Miles opened his mouth but Crewe cut him off. "Young girls," he called out from where he was crouched next to one of the bodies. Miles looked over at Crewe, the question written all over his face, but Crewe just shrugged.

"I want copies of everything you collect and all reports," stated Phil. "Excuse me." He moved to stand next to Damian.

"This is... this is art, Coulson," said Crewe with awe in his voice. The long mahogany dining table was still set, candles flickering as they flirted with the end of their wicks. The china was pristine white with gold trim and the splattering of crimson blood that had sprayed from the many victims slouched in their hand carved dining chairs or prone on the dark hardwood floors running through the room. The haunting stares of the ancient paintings lining the walls refused to share their secrets of what had happened earlier that evening.

Phil glanced around the room again. Someone defiantly enjoyed their work when they went about killing the seven men and three women in this room; none of which looked like they were expecting an all out war, rather a night at the opera. He could only imagine what the rest of the rooms looked like; the final body total was up to fifty-three when the plane arrived. "I wouldn't consider death on this magnitude art."

"I didn't say I agreed with the medium, but it takes a certain grace and planning to pull off something like this."

"And exactly what did they pull off?"

"These people, the ones in this room, that's who they came to meet. Everyone else was collateral damage contributing to the message they wanted to send whoever was missing from this party. These people were killed slowly and with purpose. The ones in the hall on the way up here were quick and messy. They either got in the way or needed to be disposed of after the fact."

"Our intel says the Black Widow is on loan to a group of gun runners. How does that require young girls and a room of socialites that have no discernible connection to weapons trade that SHIELD has been able to dig up?" Phil never liked holes in his information. The Black Widow and been accredited with numerous assassinations, disappearing without a trace after each. The movement of several shipments of stolen next gen weapons from Stark Industries was the first time they could actually catch glimpses of the target and hopefully catch up to her. This bloodbath was a wrench in what had seemingly been becoming a clearer picture.

"This had nothing to do with weapons, this was a recruitment job and they didn't deliver the goods." Crewe waved his hand over the array of bodies. Moving to the head of the table he pointed to an older woman, ivory dress turning pink as the puddle of blood beneath her continued to soak into the fabric. "Mara Csaszar, pillar of high society, inherited millions of the family fortune and made her own wealth through real-estate and a couple of diamond mines. On paper she's a fine upstanding citizen beyond approach, but her husband isn't so much on the up and up."

Coulson pulled out his notepad and flipped through the pages in search of the briefing notes he copied over about the victims that had been identified before the plan had left Seattle. "She doesn't have a husband since being widowed fifteen years ago."

Damian smiled as though he had been handed a trophy. "I didn't kill him. When I kill people you know that they're dead. When I fake their deaths, the world thinks that they're dead."

Phil could think of many reasons but he asked anyways. "And why would her husband need to fake his death?" Crewe's list of pre-SHEILD credits were impressive and many and none of the man's claims really surprised him anymore.

"Even being accused of human trafficking will put a dent in your social calendar. If he's dead, she can use her name and businesses as a front and he can continue facilitating the illegal business that actually built the family fortune. Clearly the Red Room was getting recruits from Csaszar who failed to deliver. That's good for us."

"Means we still have the weapons hand off to apprehend the Black Widow." It was the only slightly good news he had since learning that the Black Widow had struck again. Coulson hated playing catch up to the bad guys.

"That and we can double down. The Red Room is going to be looking for another trafficker. SHIELD have any we can lean on to go after that kind of a deal?"

Coulson smiled. "I'm sure we have someone we can force to work for us."