Chapter Nineteen
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Escape From The Embassy | John Powell

The apartment was quiet. Still.

It had been easy to slip in without being seen. To hear the nearby helicopters, hovering in the distance, watching everything from a bird's eye view. That would be annoying, but a problem for later.

Right now, Steve had to find Bucky and Mia first.

He wasn't exactly sure what would happen when he did; Steve had the general idea of an escape plan, perhaps fake an arrest to quell any itchy trigger fingers that would be waiting outside. He just had to get them out safe, and away from Ross and any other interested parties as soon as possible.

But that would be the easy part.

Getting Bucky to go along with this hairbrained idea would be far more difficult.

The place was empty. So small that Steve would've heard if there was someone hiding in the bathroom, or the tiny bedroom. He could catch Mia's scent there, recent. They had been here just this morning. Steve spotted a little carved bee on the bureau and pocketed it. He had a feeling Mia wouldn't be coming back here.

The apartment was small, almost too small for a family of two. There was a mattress in the living room, windows all papered up. No computers, a radio and an old TV. The fridge, a collage of notes and scraps of paper, a small collection of magnets.

A notebook atop the fridge. The elastic bookmarked a page, the most recent entry. Steve recognized Bucky's handwriting, short sentences, pasted scraps. An old trading card of Captain America. His own face staring back at him with a government-approved smile, pointing at the viewer.

"Heads up, Cap. German Special Forces coming in from the south."

"Understood," Steve said, before turning around.

Bucky. Just standing there, in the middle of the room. Unarmed, it seemed, dressed in civilian clothes, old and worn. Looking him up and down. Steve knew how he appeared; dressed up in full gear and shield. Ready for a fight. Bucky's expression was blank, no sign of any previous friendship they had. Just wariness. But it was better than outright hostility.

If that had been the case, then Bucky wouldn't have given him the chance to turn around before attacking.

For a moment, no word was said.

Finally, Steve had to be the one to break the silence. "You know why I'm here."

There was no confusion in Bucky's face. No shock or surprise. A tenseness in his shoulders, like a man who knew he was being hunted down. He'd most certainly seen the news by now. "Yes. Are you with them?"

Bucky gestured vaguely towards the outer wall, where they could both hear the activity on the street below. Steve shook his head. "No. They don't know I'm here. Not yet, at least."

"They've set the perimeter," Sam's voice came in his ear again. Steve bit back a curse. Not much time.

"I know you're nervous," Steve continued, setting down the notebook. How precious they had been, helping Bucky remember, building a new identity for himself. "And you have every right to be. But I'm here to help. I mean it. Whatever happened, we can figure this out."

Bucky didn't move. No warmth receiving those words. Just the bitter tang of fear in the air. "I wasn't in Vienna. You know I don't do that anymore."

"They're entering the building." Sam interjected, with increased urgency.

Steve thought fast. Maybe two minutes before contact. Make these next words count. "And Mia?"

"It wasn't her, either," Bucky said, his low tone both unshakably confident and filled with veiled offense. Interpreting that question as a threat, when it was anything but.

"Where is she?" Steve had to know. One element he had to be aware of before those pounding steps reached this flight of stairs.

"Safe." Bucky replied. Vague, as Steve expected. A lie, perhaps. Not here, was the implied message, and all Steve needed to know.

Steve could only nod in acknowledgement, letting his shoulders drop half a degree in relief. "Well, the people who think you did are coming here now. And they're not planning on taking you alive."

"That's smart," Bucky bobbed his head, not the least bit surprised. No doubt he could hear them coming as well. Hear the click of weapons, the jangle of extra ammunition in pouches. More bullets than either of them could handle in these tight corners. Bucky's feet shifted ever so slightly, so his back was no longer facing the front door. "Good strategy."

"They're on the roof, I'm compromised," Sam reported. Steve wondered if Bucky could hear that too, from his earpiece.

Steve glanced between the door and Bucky, already sensing what was about to happen. The exact thing he was trying to avoid. "This doesn't have to end in a fight, Buck."

But Bucky could only sigh, adjusting the glove on his metal hand. Fear fading into resignation. "It always ends in a fight."

"Five seconds."

A window, a fire escape, something. Steve looked around, but with the windows all papered up he had no idea which was the best option. He was pretty sure the north side was bordered by a lower building. To the east, a long drop to the street below. Not fun, but survivable.

But he was running out of time. They both were. Out of desperation, Steve begged, "Bucky, come on, think of Mia. You can't protect her if you go down here. She'll be completely on her own and she won't know who to go for help."

The gleam of Bucky's metal hand shone in the dim light of the apartment. "That's the thing, Steve. I am protecting her —"

"Three seconds."

"— I'm giving her a head start," Bucky finished.

"Breach!"

To their right, a window exploded. Flash-bang grenades landing at their feet.

And that's when everything went to shit.

~o~

The only reason I wasn't spotted immediately was thanks to the crowd starting to form, confused and frustrated that they couldn't cross, not being told the danger that lurked. No doubt if they knew, panic would spread.

But it didn't matter.

Realizing how obvious a head of blonde curls might be, I quickly pulled my hood up, slowly weaving through the crowd. Trying to find a way in. Trying to catch anything the police radios were saying.

Around the building, big black vans were parked around, sawhorses and tape put up. Regular policemen in their white shirts and black jackets, perky little hats on. Distinct from the special force units in their all-black gear, bullet proof vests with German labeling on them. German? Not American or Romanian. Multiple parties at play here, it seemed. I wondered how many countries were getting involved.

There had to be something I could do. Was Dad still inside? Did they have him cornered?

I knew what I had to do, but it made me sick to think about. We had contingency plans, what to do if one or the other got captured. Dad had been clear. If anything happened to me, he'd come to the rescue. But if it was him who got trapped?

Run. Run and don't look back.

My throat dried and I swallowed thickly, looking up at the tenement building that had been my home for so long. I couldn't stay. There was nothing I could do.

Turning my back on the sight unfolding before me was the hardest thing I had to do. Simply trusting that Dad could get away on his own. Meet up with me later at the rendezvous point, which was in Italy. How was I going to get to Italy on my own? I didn't even have my go bag, it was still inside the apartment. The backpack I had now had only the barest essentials and not nearly as much hard cash as I'd like.

And my shield. I didn't have my shield.

But no going back. I knew that. Those were the rules. I could survive without it.

The crowd was only getting thicker, even as the police tried to shoo them away. Easy to blend into, easy to slip away.

The first rule to running: walk, don't run. No one noticed the tall hooded girl going at a brisk pace. I quickly scanned through my options for transportation. Bus, car, train. Train would be best. Would take me straight to Italy and if I did it fast enough, there wouldn't be any delays thanks to what's happening here.

I crossed the street and cut through an alley. Behind me, the distant thunder of gunfire. I paused, heart pounding. Fighting the urge to look behind me.

I couldn't. I can't.

I had to keep going.

One foot in front of the other. No haste, no panic. Just be normal.

With that in mind, I steeled my nerves and kept moving forward.

The nearest train station was about ten blocks down. A bit of a walk, which felt even longer given the fact there were people hunting me. I kept eyes and ears out, looking for any sign of those American agents. They'd been sent on a wild goose chase. Hopefully the Germans didn't catch up, too. Maybe they were all tied up trying to capture Dad.

Or kill him.

No, don't think about that, I chastised myself, swallowing down the sick feeling rising in my gut. The Winter Soldier's final stand wouldn't be against some punk ass special forces unit. I had to trust he'd be okay somehow.

And he had my shield. He was better off than I was.

The train station came into view, a long silvery building surrounded by traffic and parking garages. Lots of people here, minding their own business, at a casual pace or rushing to catch their ride. Completely unaffected by the growing chaos happening less than a mile away. News traveled fast, but not that fast. Not yet. I still had time to get out of here. By the time anyone figured out what happened to be, I'd be long gone.

I pretended not to see the newspaper racks as I went inside, the grainy picture of Dad on all the front pages. There were TV screens up in the main atrium, but they had no sound, and only flicked between different departure and arrival schedules. A few shops inside had their own screens, but nothing that drew in a crowd. None that seemed to be on the news.

All the open kiosks for tickets had lines, so I picked one and waited. Trying not to look too shifty or anxious. Studying the schedules, seeing the open train for Rome.

Good, that'll be good. I'd never been to Rome before. Must be nice and warm this time of year. Warmer than Bucharest, at least.

The line moved slowly, but it was moving. People fumbling for bags and purses, exchanging money, struggling through language barriers. I had strong confidence I could make my interaction pretty quick, my Romanian made basic interactions pretty smooth.

But I'd never get that far.

I didn't see it so much as feel it. The station was busy, full of movement, smells, sounds. Each footstep vibrated through the floor and ringing in my ears. The acoustics made it a little disorienting, but not so much I couldn't keep track of things in my head.

Several pairs of feet moving in unison. But the odd part was that they weren't moving together. One was to the left. Another to my right. A third behind me. Each identical in pattern and weight of their step. Light, careful, deliberate.

I looked up.

Two lines over, a woman stood a head above the rest. Dark skin like polished stone, her head shaved, a neat pattern tattooed on her scalp. Not standing in the line itself, but outside of it.

Staring straight at me.

There was something immediately hostile about her gaze, but she didn't approach or attack — waiting. A chill went down my spine as I dared glanced behind me. Two other women, nearly identical to the first in sleek black clothes. Almost like businesswomen, with their finely tailored black coats. But there was something inherently wrong in that idea. These weren't businesswomen.

Their clothes were too lightweight to hide any firearms, I thought.

I kept my head down, pretending not to have noticed them. They kept drawing nearer, like prowling wildcats cornering a lone deer. I still saw no weapons. Maybe a gleam of metal, but no click of a slide pulled back, a bullet falling into place. Who were they? What did they want?

"Miss? Miss, can I help you?"

A voice jolted me from the growing miasma of panic. I looked up at the woman at the kiosk, raising her eyebrows at me expectantly. "Did you want to buy a ticket?"

"Oh," I said, stumbling forward. My heard pounded in my chest. It was hard to just stand there, fumbling with my wallet while every instinct screamed at me to run. The women were still there, somewhere behind me. Watching. Waiting. Ready to pounce as soon as my guard was down.

I didn't know what to do. Just tried to get my tickets as quick as possible. Chose France instead, since I was being watched. I couldn't let them know my real destination was Italy. I'd figure out how to get there later.

Time running out. As soon as I had the ticket in hand, I knew I didn't have long. Maybe as soon as I turned around. Maybe when I'd cleared the queue. It was too dense with people to engage in a fight.

I had to do something.

Ticket taken; money handed over. The clerk blinked up at me, confused when I didn't immediately move away. The next person in line behind me tapped my shoulder, asking to move forward. I did so, reluctantly, on stiff legs and clutching my tickets tightly. Moving slowly, testing the waters, as I filtered past the line, past the woman watching me, and out into the open atrium again.

One step, then another. Towards the turnstiles, where I'd scan my ticket and pass through. Easy peasy.

Behind me, I heard the women following. So quiet their footsteps were almost silent in the din of the atrium. But I could still hear them. Following me. Lions pursuing prey. Waiting. Waiting for what?

I kept moving ahead, trying to keep a normal pace, even though I was walking slower than usual. Slowing down. Until I stood in the center of the atrium. The maximum amount of space for a swift attack, a clean kill.

Ahead of me, two more women appeared, just as the other three, standing in front of the row of turnstiles. Tall dark-skinned women, just as the other three, their clothes deceptively simple in design, belying their true design as light, efficient clothes to move in. To fight in. Loose enough to move, but not so much to be a detriment.

I came to an abrupt stop, heart skipping. Surrounded on all sides.

They were all looking at me, but none of them spoke a word. Maybe they didn't have to. It was obvious enough what had brought them here. It was simply unclear why. Who they were, who they were working for. I didn't get the sense that they were with whoever Crossbones was working for, but what the hell did I know? Until a few months ago, I didn't think I could shift into protocol in my sleep. My grasp of reality clearly wasn't level with anyone else's.

Around us, people continued to walk to and fro to their various destinations. Completely oblivious.

I glanced left. I glanced right. The circle was wide enough that I could run, but not so wide that they couldn't close the distance before I got away.

Then I remembered the gun I still had, hidden beneath my coat. Shit. That was never going to get past the metal detectors.

Maybe I wasn't going to be boarding that train after all.

I took one slow breath. Closed my eyes for just a moment to calm my nerves. I had stopped moving for only a moment, but that moment felt like it had lasted a lifetime.

Very slowly, I began to slip the backpack off my shoulders.

Then I turned heel and ran.

Just as I expected, the women closed ranks, coming in from all sides to block my escape. The one nearest pulled something from her sleeve — some kind of knife or baton, I wasn't sure, but I knew it was coming. If they knew who I was, they wouldn't come unarmed.

My backpack slipped all the way off my arms and I slung it around, smashing it against her hand and knocking away the weapon. I slammed into the other two at full speed. Despite their intimidating looks, I quickly discovered them to be regular humans, the way they cried out and fell away easily at the force of impact.

Good to know.

Breaking free, I charged forward, slinging my backpack back on, and felt something thump into the fabric. Bolting for a side corridor, I glanced over my shoulder and found a small dagger embedded in my backpack. Holy shit. Had it not been there just in time, I'd be in much worse shape.

I could hear them giving chase, shouting at each other now, the silence broken. I couldn't understand what they were saying, some language I'd never heard before. But I could guess well enough what they were saying to each other. It's more or less the same when it's a fight.

I was faster than them. I could outrun them. Get out of the station or somehow make it to a train, any train. I just had to get out of Bucharest, and it didn't matter where or how.

I'd just whipped around a corner, heading back in the direction of the train platforms, when I saw a flash of silver. Pain exploded across my shins right before my legs were knocked out from underneath me.

I cried out, tumbling forward and crashing to the ground. Rolled over just in time to avoid getting struck with the same spear that had swept my legs.

A sixth woman, just as the others, this one with a distinct gold gorget that encircled her throat. I scrambled back to my feet, already hearing the other women catching up. My attempt to break away again was denied, the woman with the gold necklace, blocking my path with her spear. "You are not going anywhere."

"Get away from me!" I grabbed the spear and tried to bend it, twist it, render it useless — but was stunned to find that the metal did not yield as I expected it to.

In fact, it was stronger than I was. What the —

The woman jerked her arm, and I had been holding on too hard. The thrust sent me off my feet, sending me forward and then flying back to the floor again. She slammed the butt of her spear against the floor, creating an eerie gong that rang in my ears. "Your father must pay for his crimes, and so shall you."

She spoke English with a distinct accent, African I guessed, but that hardly narrowed it down. And that didn't exactly clear up my immense confusion either.

I scrambled back on my elbows as the rest of the women gathered — all with spears of their own. Where the hell were they hiding those in their suits? The corridor was much narrower than the atrium had been, and I quickly found my back against the wall. Shit. Now I really was cornered.

"It wasn't him!" Was all I could think to say, but I already knew my pleas would fall on deaf ears. Their expressions were austere, forbidding, unsympathetic. "If this is about Vienna, my dad didn't do it. He was never there!"

"Save your words," the woman with the golden throat snapped. She must be the leader, I decided. "Our King will determine your innocence for himself."

And in slow motion I saw them all raise their spears in unison — to trap me, to force me to surrender.

That wasn't going to happen.

I felt the gun press against my back. Between that and my knife, I didn't have a lot of options.

With only a split second to act, I snapped my arm behind me and unholstered the pistol. With the length of their spears, I'd probably only get one shot off before they knocked it out of my hand, so I had to make it count.

They saw the gun and recoiled, pulling out of my line of fire — but I wasn't aiming at any of them. Up, behind them, a single bullet fired before their leader smashed her spear into my wrist. The pistol flew from my hand.

The bullet struck the fire alarm.

All at once, everything changed. The lights started to flash and sprinklers went off, a siren filling the air. It bought me just a few seconds, the sounds and the water startling the posse and giving me a chance. I ducked under the leader's spear, arm aching and bruised but nothing bad — slamming into her as hard as I could to make a getaway.

They recovered too fast. As their leader cried out and collided with the wall behind her, the other five snapped into action.

Water poured from overhead, droplets flew from their spears as they rounded on me. One sliced my sleeve as I grabbed one woman and threw her into another. A third slipped on the polished marble floor, now completely slick — I delivered a kick to her chest and sent her away.

Another brought her spear down across my shoulder; she could've stabbed me, but instead used the blunt pole. Which still hurt like a bitch. The metal, entirely unyielding, nearly brought me to my knees. What was that stuff? It couldn't be—

I remembered the knife caught in my backpack. Reached around and used its thin form to block the incoming strike of the leader. And to my surprise, the metal clashed but held. The knife, despite its thinner metal, didn't bend, either.

Her spear was only inches from its face. I saw my reflection in the brushed texture of the dagger in my hand. Silvery in quality, I realized I recognized the quality of the metal. Quite intimately, in fact.

"Vibranium?" I breathed, stunned at the realization. They all had Vibranium weapons, a metal so rare that not even the United States could get their hands on any, no matter how much money they had. How could these women have so much, and for such simple weapons?

I realized the irony of that later, as if I didn't have the simplest of shields made of the same priceless material.

At any rate, none of the women responded to my question. The leader's spear had far more torque than my little blade, and she'd win out even with my super strength. Just as well, when the rod of a spear smacked into the back of my knees to send me down again, which just so helpfully got me out of the way of the leader's weapon. My blade came away and I made a wild slash at her stomach. Not to hurt, really, just to get her away, as my knees came down onto the floor.

She jumped back and I rolled to the side, barely avoiding another spear slamming to the ground where my head had been a moment before. They could be using those spearheads to more effect, I knew. They didn't want to kill me. At least, not as much as those other guys.

A spear sliced through the strap of my backpack, another cut through the bottom. The backpack and all its contents spilled out across the floor, soaking in the water.

Still on my hands and knees, I swept an arm upwards, throwing water into the eyes of a woman who got too close. It wouldn't hurt, only caused her to recoil on instinct, and I tried to grab the spear from her, only for a hand to grab the back of my collar and try to haul me back. It unbalanced me slightly but I was heavier than I looked, perhaps, and harder to knock over.

Another hand joined the first on my shoulder and realizing what it could do, I lifted both feet off the ground and kicked the woman in front of me, knocking her away and keeping hold of the spear.

The two behind me weren't expecting it and stumbled back, then again when I spun around, spear in hand.

I was far more comfortable with a knife or a gun or a shield, but a polearm wasn't outside my breadth of knowledge. And I was glad for that knowledge when three spears came down and I had to raise up my stolen one to block them.

Lights flashed and spears sang as metal clashed against metal. I blocked and parried and tried to find a way to break free, but the women kept reoriented, kept moving, never allowed me another chance to escape, no hole to break through their defense.

Even the one I unarmed still had more up her sleeve. Small marble-like objects flew from her fingers and sparked across the water, burning my eyes and stinging my skin when they made contact.

Water was starting to weigh me down. I regretted wearing such thick clothes now — but it kept the blades of their weapons from sinking too deep, only barely cutting my skin.

My shoes were heavy and sloshed with water, making my movements more ungainly, but I'd fought on a ship at sea, this was nothing. Mostly nothing. The men on that boat were nothing compared to these women. They were highly trained and in a way I'd never encountered before. Maybe Dad would be able to identify their style, especially if he's pissed them off before — but I was at a complete loss.

They kept pushing and pushing me back. The air was filled with so much clanging that my ears were continually ringing. In the distance, I thought I heard more shouting. Male, it sounded, perhaps not with these ladies, but that didn't mean they were friendly, either. I was wasting time. They were stalling me, trying to wear me down.

One caught me across the face. Vibranium against jawbone, I almost blacked out. Head snapping to the side, I stumbled, fell against the wall. Caught myself and managed to cling to consciousness, but blocking the next incoming strike was weak. The spear fell from my hand.

The blunt end of another spear slammed into my gut, and it felt like getting hit with a cannonball.

I gasped uselessly; the air knocked from my lungs as I collapsed. Behind them, I saw the blinking of flashlights, the rush of many dark forms in bulky armor and firearms. Their shouting echoed down the long corridor, but for the moment they were ignored.

Some animal part of my brain still thought I had a chance. The basest of survival instincts, seeing threat and wanting to run. But when I fell to the floor, I tried to pick myself back up again, only to feel a sharp point at my neck.

"It's done," The leader spoke above me, her tone final. "Yield, or else."

"Everyone, freeze!"

Six spear points bore down on my exposed back. Water splashed against my face, cuts and bruises aching in the cold. The barrels of twice as many guns swayed back and forth amongst us.

There was no running now.

I dropped my head down into the water, defeated.