It was past midday when she woke up.
She wasn't even sure how she managed to fall asleep, but she finally did. If she dreamed, she couldn't remember it. It was a blessing. The events from the night before matched the worst of her nightmares as-is and she really did not need an encore.
She knew, she just knew there was something wrong with Marcus.
She used to get those inklings, those weird suspicions, for as long as she could remembered. She put it on the curb of intuition, of experience, of knowledge about human psychology, even if she couldn't always pinpoint the cues that guided her. Now, she wasn't so sure.
Perhaps it was always just magic.
There was a knock on the door, and she startled. She stayed on the floor, listening, but the visitor wasn't leaving and soon there was another knock.
She got up, wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and opened the door.
It was Edna.
"How may I help you?"
The older woman took in her looks and her brows furrowed. "Are you all right, dear?"
"Yeah," she rasped. "What are you doing here?"
"You look pale."
"Just a tough night. It will pass."
"Uhm, I'm sorry, I really didn't want to bother you, but Chloe called and asked me to check on you."
Right, she never gave any of the girls her number.
"I'm fine."
"Are you sure? Chloe said you disappeared without a word yesterday."
"Yes, I'm sure. Now excuse me, I need to take a shower."
"Of course, of course, I didn't mean to…"
Natasha closed the door, cutting Edna's ramblings short. Then she stood, listening. Edna stayed for a few seconds, then sighed and shuffled up the stairs.
Natasha stood rooted in place there for a moment longer, perplexed. She ran a hand through her hair and pinched the bridge of her nose. In vain, because the headache has already creeped in.
Great.
"What have I told you about calling me ever again?"
"That I shouldn't?"
"Oh, so you remembered. I'm deeply honored."
"If you really didn't want to talk to me so badly you would hang up by now."
"I wouldn't even pick up if you didn't use a new number each time."
Natasha chuckled. There was a moment of silence, then Hanima spoke. "Did you find your guy?"
"No, I'm still working on it. In fact, this is…"
"No, stop," Hanima cut her off. "No matter what follows, the answer is no. I don't want to hear it. I'm hanging up."
There was another stretch of silence.
"You know, ultimatums work best if you follow up on them," Natasha pointed out.
Hanima groaned in frustration. "Okay, what is it? And no, you can't come over. My marriage is not ready to take that hit again."
"Don't worry, I'm still in Ohio."
"Uh."
"Is there a safe place we can talk?"
"Yeah, give me ten minutes. I'll send you a link."
"You sure this can't be traced?"
"Yes, Natasha. I am sure. I'm hosting it on my own server and I'm bouncing the packets across seven different nodes."
"I assume it means something?"
"You always had such a unique understanding for my field of work." Hanima rolled her eyes. There was a voice coming from somewhere off-screen, the words too quiet to be picked up by the microphone as anything more than garbled noise. Hanima turned away from the camera. "It's not going to take long; I'll do it later."
"Domestic bliss?"
"You would know, right?"
Natasha scoffed.
Hanima's face turned hard. "What do you want?"
Natasha told her.
"That's impossible," Hanima decreed. "And it's not me being facetious or trying to negotiate terms. It simply cannot. Be. Done. Not without knowing what system it runs on, not without knowing what kind of encryption it uses. If I were with you on site, then maaaybe, but there's no way to prepare for every scenario, write algorithms to cover every eventuality..."
"That's why I'm taking you with me."
Hanima gaped at her from the screen, then the realization dawned on her face. "No. No way. If anyone traces the call, I'm toasted. I'm risking enough as it is, just talking to you. I'm not going back to prison. I don't care if you're ready to throw your reputation away, for whatever reason, but I'm not taking the fall with you."
"Hanima, there's no one else I can ask. You are my only chance, literally."
"Then don't do it."
"I have to."
Hanima glowered at her for a moment then sighed. "When do you intend on going in?"
"Tonight."
Hanima chuckled nervously. "No, I'm serious."
"So am I. I'm not sure how long my way in will be valid. I went through a lot of shit to get it. Besides, there's too many people there during the week and I definitely can't wait until next weekend."
Hanima rubbed her face in exasperation then pushed an unruly strand of hair back under the scarf. "I'm too soft," she declared. "Okay, here's what you need to get." She started typing and lines started popping in the chat window.
Natasha skimmed through the list. "Are you sure I'll be able to get everything in a small town, in just a few hours?"
"Don't know. Most likely not. There's a good shop in Columbus though. I'm sending you the address. It should have everything you need. If you go now, it should leave us with just enough time to prepare."
"I don't know, the timing is tight…"
"Then maybe stop talking to me and go?"
Natasha closed the laptop and went.
Halfway through the ride she started regretting ever tossing the Kid Rock CD. The antenna was broken, the radio played only static, no matter how many times she switched stations, there was no other CD in the glovebox and silence started to get oppressive pretty fast. The last thing she needed was being alone with her thoughts.
She pulled out her phone, positioned it on the dashboard, turned the recording on and started talking.
The small electronic repair shop was located in a back alley behind a drycleaner and a convenience store. The signboard above the entrance was hand-painted and bore an "est. 1973" notation at be bottom. Natasha understood why Hanima liked it the moment she crossed the threshold. Simple shelves made of steel profiles and wooden boards, lining both sides of the narrow space, were bulging under the weight of stuff. Computer parts, pieces of electronics, something that looked suspiciously like vintage surveillance equipment too.
She walked the length of the room and stopped in front of the counter at the back. The surface was littered with devices in various stages of disassembly. The shopkeeper, a lanky twenty-something with greasy hair falling over his face, glanced up at her as she walked in then fixed his eyes back on the reading material in his hands, pretending he didn't notice her.
Natasha cleared her throat.
The clerk gave off a long-suffering groan and put his book down. It had an anime girl with blue hair and anatomically impossible boobs on the cover and all the writing was in Korean. He took his legs off the counter, pushed his thick glasses down his nose and eyed Natasha with engineered disinterest.
"How may I help you?" he asked.
Natasha handed him the list.
He went through it, and, as he did, his attitude changed: his back straightened and he pushed the glasses back up. He got to the end and checked the other side of the paper, then whistled. His eyes jumped to Natasha and he studied her, judging. "I'm sorry miss, but we don't carry this sort of items," he decided in the end. "We are a respectable establishment."
Natasha looked around. "Mhm."
He looked at her with impatient anticipation. She put a hand on her hip and stared back.
"I mean, we might have some of it, if you came by later this week," he balked.
"How about all of it, and now?"
The kid grunted, rose from his seat, and pulled the sleeves of his worn denim jacket up, then headed to the backroom. He stopped at the door and turned back to her. "Why do you need all this stuff for anyway?"
"I'm throwing a network security themed party for my six-year-old niece," she answered without a hitch.
The kid chuckled, shook his head, and disappeared into the backroom.
She left half an hour later, carrying a small bag, containing most of what she needed. There were still some items missing from Hanima's list, but Rudy – that was the kid's name – directed her to a Microcenter downtown that should carry those.
So far, so good.
"Okay, now what?"
"Plug the modem into the Arduino module. The blue printed board. Yeah, that one. No, the other way around! Oh god, don't push, just wiggle it around until all the pins go in!"
Natasha grunted and wiggled the connector until it snapped into place.
"Aaaand… yep, the connection should be established. Let's give it a test run. I'm switching over now. Hear you in a moment."
The videocall ended and the chat window disappeared without a prompt. Natasha tapped her fingers on her thigh.
A few minutes later her burner phone rang. There were just asterisks showing up in place of the caller ID. She pushed the headset into her ear.
"Hello?"
"I'm hooked. Can you hear me all right?"
"There's a bit of static, but it's good enough."
"Yeah, that's the best I can do."
"You're a genius, Hani."
"Of course I am. Remember, you have to find an internal network node and plug in the signal booster, or I wouldn't be able to talk to you – or do anything – without a cellular network coverage."
"Yeah, I know, I know."
"I'm just making sure."
"Thank you."
"You will thank me later; in a slim chance this works out and we are not arrested first thing in the morning. What's the plan now?"
"Go get some sleep. I'll call you once I'm in."
Hanima sighed. "Good luck, Natasha."
She hummed in agreement. Copious amount of luck was exactly what she needed now.
She went through her equipment once more, checking if everything was in order. She didn't have any of the heavy combat gear, but she still had a protective vest she could wear under her clothes. She put it on, got dressed and holstered her gun, double checking the primary and spare ammunition clips. It was just the backup arm she kept in her apartment, but it would still do. If all went like she intended she wouldn't even have to shoot it. She was still carrying it though; she wasn't going to make the same mistake twice.
She put everything she needed into a small backpack. The rest of her personal belongings still fit in a single duffle bag. She sighted and shook her head. Depending on how things were going to work out, there might be no opportunity to return to her New York apartment before shit went down, which would mean this was all she had.
No matter, she would figure it out.
One final sweep and she was out of the door. She left the light on and left the key on the table. Edna should have no problem finding it once she notices Natasha's gone.
She put the car on neutral then pushed it out of the driveway, not turning on the engine until it was already on the street. She watched the single lit up window for a moment then drove away, without looking back.
It was past midnight when she arrived at her observation spot. She removed the camera and packed it up, then went back to the car and went through the recording. The last day was missing, just as she knew it would, she didn't have an opportunity to swing by and replace the battery or the memory card. Other than that, there didn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary.
She turned the binoculars to the night mode and watched. It was still too early for the breach, giving the night shift another hour or two to grow tired was advisable and would still leave her with enough time.
The base was silent, only the patrols making their tired rounds around the perimeter, but John's DeWitt blue Audi occupied its usual spot on the parking lot, throwing her for a loop. She didn't figure out what exactly his role was, but the payroll would suggest he sat somewhere close to the top. Why would he be here on a Saturday night?
Before she could figure it out, the silence was pierced by a whirring sound of an approaching chopper. It carried over the fields way before Natasha spotted the small, unmarked machine, coming from North. It settled on the airfield not far away from the main building.
It was one of the low attitude vessels used in shorter flights, so whoever used it didn't come from afar, Cleveland perhaps, or somewhere beyond the border, meaning there was some international collab going on.
A squad came forth from the main building. Four agents in the dark combat gear and a bunch of regular soldiers. The engine slowly winded down and two suited figures got off the chopper, just as the base staff approached.
She adjusted the magnification on her binoculars and observed the new arrivals. They didn't move like field agents; their suits were also too well fitted and too expensive for that. The soldiers didn't salute them, so they weren't a part of military hierarchy either. Bureaucrats or politicians then.
The four-man squad of agents came forth to escort the visitors inside, while the soldiers took their positions guarding the field. The bird stayed out in the open with the pilot still inside. It wasn't a drop-off then but a visit, not long enough to warrant two round trips or leading the machine into the hangar.
The procession disappeared inside the main building. The soldiers loosened their stances, but did not leave their spots, so it meant that – whatever it was that was just happening – hasn't played in full yet and they were ordered to hold their positions.
Natasha watched, precarious.
A quarter of an hour later the rotor blades whirred back to life. The suits emerged from the building, a larger group of guards trailing a few steps behind. The first pair was dragging a person between them. It could've been a woman, but it was hard to tell from the distance, with the loose, gray uniform hanging from short, skinny frame and with the buzzed-off hair. Their hands and ankles were cuffed and there was a chain looped between the two; a piece of dark cloth covered their eyes.
Natasha bit her lip, the greasiest pieces of Marcus' memory floating to the surface of her mind.
The procession passed in front of the soldiers, completely unabashed. No one reacted, no one even turned their head. Like nothing out of ordinary was happening. Like the sight of a chained, blindfolded prisoner being hoarded by a bunch of burly dudes in unmarked uniforms was a daily occurrence.
Natasha wasn't naïve enough to believe stuff like that didn't happen, she saw enough during her career to know for a fact that it did. But there were places, special, hidden places where such business was conducted, and the agencies were usually a bit more subtle about it. This wasn't the Helicarrier hanging cloaked over international waters or some secret base in a lawless land, they were out in the open, right smack in the middle of Ohio.
The person was ushered into the hold and strapped into a seat. Two guards remained inside to act as a convoy, the suits boarded a moment later and the helicopter took off, heading back North.
She pressed her fingers to her eyes.
Marcus' dark memories joined forces with her own recollections of the doomed flight, then a lot of other ones like that in the past, and a cumbersome realization flowered in her brain. She was one of the guards, not so long ago. And, just like them, she didn't much care, at least not enough to do something about it. She was doing what she was told to do and that removed any responsibility for her actions.
She rarely thought about what happened on that day. The outcome was self-evident, and she revisited the parts that had important strategical ramifications, but she never put much reflection to her own reactions and deeds. It returned with redoubled strength as the vision played out in her head. And now, it were her own vicious thoughts, her own listlessness that burned inside her, hot with shame.
Natasha of that memory was a stranger to her now.
She had no right making it only about Loki, not anymore. The entire system was rotten, designed to swallow people whole, to make them meaningless cogwheels in the machine of the state, to reduce them to insignificant column in the statistics.
And why?
The answer was always the same, whether it was USSR or US or any other country in the world. "For the good of Mankind." The perfect excuse. So, what if some people must suffer? It's all in the name of progress, security, freedom.
And no one ever cares. It's the guilty ones. And it's not them.
Until it is.
She breached the perimeter in one of the blind spots behind the barracks, using bolt cutters to make a neat entrance for herself, big enough to slip right through, small enough to remain unnoticed for a while. They would find it, she was sure, but she would be far away by then, hopefully.
She skulked along the walls, staying in the shadows. Oh, it was so much easier when she could sense the energies of people around. She couldn't hold her attention on that all the time and remain fully aware of her immediate surroundings, but brief sweeps from time to time still did wonders and she could trace the movements of enemies the regular way in the meantime – with the skill of prediction.
The guard in the Eastern gate was soundly asleep. The door was locked, but there was a key still inserted on the inside of the door, which she could see from the window. She retrieved it by pushing it in with a pin and sliding it through the crack under the door and got inside. The guard stirred, but did not wake up and she studied the camera feeds for quite some time, committing the angles and cones of view to her memory. The main entrance was covered with three different cameras, there was also one above the back door that lead to a small, fenced-in backyard and some rotating ones covering most of the perimeter of the building, including all windows. It didn't change all that much – even if she could reach any of the windows without being spotted, they were all barred and dealing with that would take too much time and could potentially garner unwanted attention.
No, she needed another way in.
She headed for the barracks next. The layout of the base was similar to all the other objects of this kind she saw so far and she quickly found her way into the washhouse, where she fished a white smock out of a crate of similar garments that were waiting for their turn to be pressed and folded. She stashed it in her backpack.
She waited for the patrol to cross, hidden in a crook of a wall, then crossed the yard and dove into the small alley between the main building and the administrative office. It was the only façade that was not covered by surveillance in full. She took out the grappling gun, fed the ending of the thin steel rope into the devised slot then shot it. It bit into the brickwork a foot off the top and secured with a click. She gave it a reassuring tug. It held, which was just great, because she only had one of those.
She hooked the line into the turnbuckle and climbed. If she had some of those on the island it would make her life so much better. Both of their lives, in fact.
She vaulted over the parapet and released the hook, then rolled up the line and stashed the gun back into the backpack. It was useless now, but she didn't want to leave more traces of her presence that it was absolutely necessary.
There was an access hatch further down the roof, towards the middle of the building. She tugged on it, but the kickplate that covered it was locked in place from the inside, with no way to open it from her side other than just cutting it open and the small laser cutter she brought would take way too long to deal with that.
Her eyes dashed towards the air handling units. There were a few of those, including one huge box, way too big to serve just the above-ground portion of the building, most likely there for the underground parts.
Despite what action movies tended to show, air ducts were not the most convenient sneaking routes, far from it. Only the biggest ducts that served entire areas and not single rooms were wide enough to fit a person and even those never ended with convenient vents leading straight to the room one needed to access, they just tapered further and further down as the amount of areas they served decreased, until they turned too small to crawl through. Not to mention the structural reinforcements inside and the fact that climbing into a horizontal air duct would just result in going through the false ceiling along with it, more often than not, as they were not designed to carry a weight of a person.
Still, beggars can't be choosers, and the main vertical risers leading to and from the installation shaft were big enough to grant her the access, if she found a proper exit point inside.
She unwrapped the insulation from the supply duct in the point where it connected to the wall and started undoing the bolts that fastened it to the wall. A couple of minutes of passionate unscrewing later and she pulled it free and away from the wall, removed the filter mesh and shone her flashlight inside. The duct constricted just past the level of the roof, but even with that it was still wide enough. It went straight down for about the height of two floors, then turned. That would have to be her exit point.
She focused and swept the area below. There were people in the building, but she couldn't sense anyone close to the shaft. There was no telling what kind of room the duct culminated in, but it was located next to the elevators bank, so there was hoping it was some sort of a technical space. Or not.
She attached the line to a metal pole that held an antenna, then lowered herself inside. A cloud of dust rose as she brushed her knee against the surface of the duct – it's been a while since it's been cleaned – and she coughed into her elbow as it scratched in her throat and prickled in her eyes. She pulled her scarf up and stayed in place, breathing and listening for a moment, before she allowed herself to continue down. The faint light from the lampposts that just barely dispersed the darkness up on the roof was now completely gone and she descended in complete darkness, the world consisting only of the ratcheting pulley under her fingers and the pressure of the duct wall behind her back, until her feet connected to the bottom of the duct. She fell into a crouch. Metal walls protested the load with a groan, shifting under her weight, but did not give way, not yet at least.
She felt around for an inspection hatch, that should be somewhere around the bend, then – when that proven inconclusive – she pulled out the flashlight again. And surely, there was one, a few feet ahead in the horizontal part of the duct. She crawled, wary to put her weight on the connection pieces and not on the wall itself, and the duct creaked and bent as she went. She kicked the hatch out. It clattered to the ground and she peeked outside.
It was indeed a technical room, or, more like, some sort of storage area. She squeezed through, legs first, then dropped to the floor.
So far, so good.
She fixed her hair, brushed the dust off her clothes the best she could and pulled on the apron. It was show time.