Worlds Apart: Part 2
CHAPTER ELEVEN – Resurrection
[December 1990 – Moscow, Russia]
Neon colored hues bathed various walls of a dingy Russian strip club, whilst soft rumbled tones of techno music vibrated through various speakers. Half-naked women coated in body glitter and cheap perfume appeared everywhere, dancing seductively for male guests they anticipated would secure them a few dollars. Tonight, I acted as one of them. A pixie styled, black-haired wig hid my usual brunette waves, and I reluctantly wore a skimpy, glittery outfit to blend in with the rest of young women. My scantily clad body swayed while my hazel eyes, revealed only through a simple silver mask scrutinized the club for my target.
As if on cue, a firm male voice filtered through my earpiece. "Target acquired."
I shifted my attention towards a small table in a dim lit corner where my partner, Jon Ewell studied the patrons of the club.
"No sign of the asset though, my dear Widow Maker."
"Unlike the brutes he hires for muscle, he won't be caught in the open. We have to use his men against them, which shouldn't be too difficult."
"The man is a ghost –"
"I don't like the doubt in your tone, Ewell, where's your courage?" I smirked waving my fingers in the attractive brunette's direction.
"Courage is the last thing on my mind in a place like this."
"Eyes on the prize, Ewell."
"They are. No wonder they call you a Widow Maker, I'm having heart palpitations." He grinned knowingly, raising his glass at me.
A short eye roll of disapproval made my partner of three years' chuckle. I refocused on the target of our mission briefing. "I'm moving towards Popov to intercept."
"Copy that."
I hopped off the illuminated platform, walking graciously as realistically possible in a pair of killer stilettos through the crowd towards the VIP booth. Behind the velvet rope a muscular Russian sat with a handful of his men, all equally sporting Mafia tattoos and commanding an air of arrogance. The targets harden features mirrored those of someone who'd spent their entire life amongst the hardship and brutality of the criminal underworld. He nursed a shot of vodka, surveying the girls on display but not apparently interested until I emerged from within the crowd. One smile and he gestured for me to approach.
He rose from the velvet-covered couch, securing a strong arm around my waist the moment we met. "You are beautiful," he murmured huskily.
"And you look like a man who takes care of business." I tiptoed my fingers along his shirt buttons, the other brushing back through his thinning black hair.
"You are not Russian, no?"
"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Ewell stated darkly. "No wonder the asset only uses him as the muscle, there's not much going on upstairs."
"I'm American, is that a problem?"
He shook his head with a grin when I pressed myself against him, gazing up at him through my fake eyelashes. "I like American girls, very much."
"Loose women and straight vodka are a quick way to a shallow grave."
I ignored Ewell's commentary, focusing on the task of seducing the Russian.
"Then you are in for a treat, darling." I flirted reaching up to place a kiss against the corner of his mouth, turning my head abruptly when he tried for a full-on kiss. I playfully shook my head at him. "Good things come to those who wait." I took his hand, leading him through the crowd to the back of the club where the private rooms for lap dances were located.
"His men are occupied with the girls for the time being," Ewell informed me. "Do you really need to be that forward with him?"
I located an empty room and led Popov inside, giggling whilst shoving him into the chair. He got comfortable, licking his lips when I began to dance for him.
It never got any easier. No matter how many times I pretended to enjoy the company of the men I needed to exploit, I hated every second of it. Seduction and flattery were typically the most effective method to obtain information and land another completed mission into my file. Thus, proving my value to the Security Council overseeing the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division – the spy agency known as S.H.I.E.L.D.
I flashed Popov a smirk, moving behind him and combing my hands through his hair. He hummed with content, so completely lost in the moment he couldn't fight off the chokehold I put him in. In vain, he struggled to free himself from my grip, probably surprised by the strength.
"Where is the asset?"
He swore at me in Russian. A slight adjustment of my arm and his Adam's apple jerked roughly as he strained for a decent breath.
"If I have to ask again, I will dismantle you from joint to joint." I replied in Russian.
The threatening manner of my tone should've been all he needed to be convinced of the truth. I held no remorse for men like him, knowing another was there to fill the void.
"Kronshtadt!" Popov gasped.
"St. Petersburg?" My grasp loosened slightly so he could nod.
"He is leaving there…tonight! But I not know where! Please, he will kill me for talking!"
"Oh, darling," I cooed softly. "You will have no more worries after tonight."
With a sharp twist of his head, the loud snap of his neck breaking filled the room. I exhaled an angered breath, stepping away from the body to press a finger to my earpiece.
"Ewell notify the Director that the asset is in Kronshtadt. He's apparently leaving there tonight so I need a Quinjet fueled and ready to depart ASAP."
"Copy that. What do I tell him about Popov?"
"Tell him he's been taken care of." I patted down Popov discovering his wallet in his pant pocket but nothing worthy of note. There was also a gun strapped to his ankle, which I felt no guilt in taking to log in as evidence when I finally returned to S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters in Washington D.C. "I'll change in the car and meet up with you."
"Why bother? You'd make a good distraction," Ewell chuckled.
"Unlike you, the asset isn't affected by female wyes." I slipped out of the room unnoticed, heading for the back entrance and the black sedan parked across the street. I tugged off the wig and tossed it aside.
"You almost sound impressed."
"Just because he uses his skills for the opposing side, doesn't mean I don't respect him." I grabbed a plastic bag from the glove compartment, dropping Popov's gun inside. I left it sitting on the passenger seat and reached for my usual work attire waiting on the back seat. "He's a soldier who follows the orders he's given; he would've been known as a hero in a past life."
"Well in this life, he's wanted for all the wrong reasons. And if I was any sort of a decent man, I'd be jealous by the tone you use while talking about him."
"Call me when my Quinjet is ready." I sighed and removed the earpiece.
Disregarding Ewell's obvious flirtations was easier than enduring the tiresome discussion of explaining why I didn't get romantically involved with other agents – apart from the fact it only complicated missions, it was of no interest to me. Instinctively I reached for the silver locket hanging from the rearview mirror, and the diamond engagement ring attached to it. I clutched them securely in my hand. They were a constant reminder of what I'd lost and why I fought so hard for S.H.I.E.L.D. And while there was one less bad guy in the world, the ghost known as the Winter Soldier still ran free.
A shadow approaching in the rearview mirror caught my attention. My trip down memory lane compromising my reaction time and forcing me to cover my head as the window exploded around me. I blindly grasped for the Russian's gun when a hard hand seized my head, something cool and metal like clutching strands of brown hair before unceremoniously slamming my head against the steering wheel until my body went limp.
-x-
My throat rumbled with a groan when I woke with an instant throb in the front of my head. I lightly shook my head to clear my blurred vision but only succeeded in making my headache worse. There was no way of knowing how much time passed, and the strange feeling in my stomach suddenly felt like a bottomless pit. Air thick with a damp, musty stench did nothing for my nausea. From what I could make out in the dim light emitting from the single bulb hanging above me, I was confined in some sort of a concrete room and strapped to a chair with a piece of crude rope burning against my flesh with every movement.
"Hello?" I croaked, my vocal cords scratching together like two pieces of sandpaper. My tongue rolled over my parched lips, tasting the coppery twang of blood. "Hello? Is anyone there?"
I released a long sigh glancing down at my stripper outfit discovering it covered in a light layer of dirt and splotches of dried blood. "Well, this is uncomfortably familiar," I muttered, struggling to recall the events that led me here. I remembered leaving the strip club, talking to Jon before the sedan window was smashed in.
A door slid open in front of me allowing light to flood into the empty space around me, confirming I was in a vacant room. I heard the distance murmur of voices and then the musical tapping of high heels belonging to the female silhouette now walking towards me. Something snapped, and a single fiery flame danced seemingly in mid-air, I couldn't see much of the face behind it, but I inhaled the cigarette smoke that followed.
"It is such an honor to be in the presence of the illustrious Widow Maker, the rare orchid of S.H.I.E.L.D. Truly, I am impressed my man was able to take you down as easily as he did."
I strained myself while listening to the softly spoken English accent, trying to place the face that might've been from my long and varied espionage career. "You seem to know me, but you're obviously not important enough to get on my radar."
"And there is that famous wit I've heard so much about. Tell me, Widow, were you so witty in the company of Doctor Zola?"
A cloud of cigarette smoke enclosed me as the light above me gradually revealed a petite dark-haired woman with the most dazzling green colored eyes I'd ever seen. She wore a navy dress that clung to her figure and plain black high heels. Her wavy hair the color of black ink was loose, framing her masculine facial features. However, I still had no idea who she was or more importantly, what she required from me.
"What do you know of Zola?"
"I know you were his greatest creation."
I rolled my eyes. "Zola was nothing more than a slave to Johann Schmidt, a tool to be used until he was of no use."
The woman sucked the end of the cigarette making the end glow. "Maybe, but you cannot deny his serum has worked wonders on you. You look rather fetching for someone born in 1920," she dropped the cigarette and rubbed it out with the toe of her high heel. She leant forward, brushing her fingers along my jaw causing a handful of shivers to tumble along my spine. "The serum running through your veins is one of the prized secrets of the world. Who wouldn't want to look young and beautiful forever?"
"I appreciate the compliment, but I'm not attracted to women, especially crazy ones."
"I don't want this to turn messy, Widow. Therefore, you are going to tell me everything filling that pretty little head of yours. And if you think you'll be brave and not say a word, I have various ways I would enjoy seeing you withstand. Even then, if you believe that to be the worst possible outcome then you are sadly mistaken because I intend to harvest your blood and organs to learn the secret of the super soldier serum, so if that means you're still alive during the process…then so be it."
My throat shuddered to see her vicious words reflected in her eyes; she was unapologetic for her words and determined to get what she wanted no matter the cost. She was emotionless and calculating – the worse sort of criminal to deal with.
"I'm not afraid of some British tart with a death wish."
"I'm not the one who is going to die."
"I've heard that before as well, and every last one of those people saw my face before they died."
Her jaw clenched, and she raised a hand, indicating to slap me. Her actions paused midflight however by a brusque male voice.
"That's enough."
She straightened, releasing a weary sigh. She glanced back over a shoulder as the man appeared in the doorway; I didn't need to see his face – his voice haunted my dreams, as did the promises we made to each other. My tempest of regret emerged from within the shadows.
"No..." The single word escaped my lips laced with genuine scared disbelief. My bound hands wriggled whilst the former Sergeant James "Bucky" Barnes walked towards me.
Nonetheless, it appeared the charming Brooklyn native I'd fallen for during the war was long gone. This staunch soldier before me was outfitted head to toe in black combat gear, armed with various weapons. A governed look was present on his face and it made my stomach twist nervously. There was no spark of life within his blue eyes. A purpose greater than himself drove him.
"No, it can't be…that's not possible…you're meant to be dead!" I snapped at him.
"Don't tell me the two of you are already acquainted?"
"I don't know her," he stated resolutely in English.
"You're the asset? The Winter Soldier?" I questioned, and Iris nodded gleefully. I hung my head as the first handful of tears released from the corners of my eyes.
"If you thought I sounded cruel, then the asset will certainly give a new meaning to the word. He has some creative methods of obtaining information; it truly is an art form."
He stepped forward and roughly grabbed my chin, tilting my head back slightly so he could brush his thumb across my damp cheek. My lips parted, recalling the night he'd done the same thing at the camp in Italy –warmth lingered in his touch then, a loving look in his eye as if I were the only girl in the world. He lowered his hand to my mother's locket, grasping it as he gave it a short tug to rip it from around my neck. He flicked it open and the skin between his eyebrows pinched together upon discovering the photo of him during the war.
"I thought you were dead, Bucky," my tears were met by Iris' sigh of annoyance. "All these years I thought…"
His emotionless eyes glimpsed at me as he snapped the locket closed and shoved the heirloom and his ring into a pocket. He didn't speak, stepping aside without any sort of recognition of who I was to him. I started squirming again the instant Iris produced a syringe from a small leather bag I hadn't noticed before now.
"Hold her still. I don't want to puncture one of her precious veins before due time."
"NO!"
Bucky marched round behind me, enfolding his arms around me in an awkward bear hug. That's when I noticed the metal fingers on his left hand and the superior strength of that arm was the main anchor. Iris placed a strap around my bicep, tightening it before delicately brushing her fingers over my veins. She smiled upon sticking me with the needle. I could only flinch as it pierced my flesh, looking down at the vial filling rapidly with my serum-tainted blood.
"You won't get away with this!" I hissed unable to break Bucky's hold.
This was a situation I'd hoped never to be in ever again. Held against my will, the unknown beckoning like a blinding light I couldn't avoid. To be powerless was a fear worse than death.
"We'll see about that."
I spat at her. Iris didn't take too kindly to my reaction, finally getting her chance to smack me across the mouth. She roughly ripped the needle from my vein. Bucky released me without a word, following Iris towards the door but I spoke up again.
"Your name is James Buchanan Barnes!" He froze before the opened door, taking a long moment before he glimpsed back over his shoulder at me. "You're from Brooklyn, New York and we met in Italy 1943. You promised me that no one like her would hurt me ever again! YOU PROMISED ME, BUCKY!" I screamed hatefully.
"I think I'm going to vomit." Iris remarked coldly and slid the door closed.
