Chapter four, Bhudapest, part 4
13:00 hours, Moscow, Russia
"Any luck?" The static on the other end of the earpeice made me wince. The reply was garbled, due to satellite limitations in the area.
"Not really...fzzzzzz...reports are all the same...fzzzzzz...witnesses are dead...fzzz...killed by the blast...fzzz...see that we can do much good, here."
My face remained impassive. "Alright, let's regroup back at base. Natasha, out."
"Hawkeye? Clint? Are you there?" I rolled my eyes. Blast this tech.
I began walking in the direction Clint had been operating, thinking that he had most likely not heard my last communication. I'll see if I can meet up with him at the coordinates the last suspect was suppossed to have lived.
After several minutes of walking, I reached a small house near a bridge over the river. By this time, I was beginning to get that uneasy feeling I got before a fight. No matter how many times I won my battles, I never got used to the feeling of walking into danger. I sincierly hoped that I was wrong.
We had dressed in local civillian clothing for the day, though I made sure I had my slacks on under my skirt. I hated fighting in a skirt.
That skirt was turning out to be more troublesome than I had anticipated, though. The day was windy, and it kept whipping around my legs, tangling my ankles together. I straightened it for the fifth time, then gave up frustratedly. My mood was quite sour when I finally reached the smallish structure.
The place had a small butcher's shop in the front, and the living quarters in the back. According to the source, the witness lived with his family, who owned the place. I wrinkled my nose slightly at the scent of overripe meat. A low chuckle sounded behind me. "I always think you lot look funny with your noses all scrunched up like that."
I twirled around, yanking our a gun and cocking it. I stopped when I saw who it was.
He held up his hands. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you."
I lowered the gun. "Hank. What's a congressman like yourself doing here, of all places?"
He stepped forward, out of the shadow of the nearest building. He wore a heavy cloak, presumably to keep out the wind, and large, thick gloves hid his hands. "Most likely the same thing as you. Trying to find out why my brother died in that explosion."
I blinked. "Your... brother?"
He nodded, the movement almost imperceptible inside his hood. "Yes. He may have been the reason the bomb was planted in the first place."
I stood stock still, my mind whirling. Hank McCoy's brother... killed as an attack at a congressman? Or because... Suddenly, a lot made sense. I turned on my heel and pounded toward the house, ignoring Hank's startled calls behind me. Without even an attempt at being subtle, I kicked the door open and skidded into the interior. On a hook in the center of the room, a recently dead cow hung by it's hind legs, it's throat slit open. A knife was jabbed into it's side, a peice of paper impaled on the blade. I yanked it out, dropping the bloody blade and unfolding the stained peice of cardstock.
Your prescence is requested tomorrow in the vicinity of the Moscow Kremlin. We expect you at the gates tomorrow morning. Come early, or perhaps your 'partner' will begin to envy this cow.
The Last Tsar
YOU ARE READING
"You ready?" I glanced over at Clint. " 'Course I'm ready. Let's get this bird in the air before you have to make another bathroom break." Clint frowned in mock offense. "Whatever you say, Agent Romanoff." I smiled slightly, then began liftoff proce...