บท 5: Red Room
Location: Los Angeles
Date: May 7 2008
The next few days were spent getting acclimated back in time. I caught myself looking for non-existent products or being surprised by the price a few times already. I need to be familiar with prices, products, and the current global and local political climate.
Another self-assigned task that I pursued relentlessly was documenting the timeline. I spent hours in the office, writing down everything I remember. The more I write down, the better our chances of avoiding most of it. I really hope that my past will not become our future.
Jarvis ensured that my computer was secured and encrypted, but just in case, he kept my files on his server, and I only had access when working with them. In case anyone steals this computer, my files will stay secure.
I can only imagine what HYDRA will do if they get access to this information.
To my surprise, I got a few calls for PI work. Apparently, to keep my cover, Jarvis posted ads in newspapers and some online sites, and who knows where else? I politely denied my service, of course, claiming I had a working case for now.
All in all, it was a slow day. It was a lull before the storm, as I found out later.
🕷
Something was wrong. The sharp, startling, and overwhelming feeling of danger put my body on overdrive.
I grabbed my gun, which I kept under the pillow (the only way to sleep somewhat less paranoid for me), and without even bothering to dress up, I made my way around the apartment to see what triggered my honed instincts. In the kitchen, I picked up a knife. It was good for cutting meat, not so much for knife fighting.
Note to myself: I need to buy a proper battle one.
When I found nothing amiss inside, I carefully looked out of the window.
Something is not right, and I need to figure it out ASAP.
I counted at least two cars that were not here yesterday. Then, I found more and more signs of something out of place.
I was under tight observation, I absently acknowledged. More important was the origin of the observation — Red Room operatives. Maybe someone else would not see a difference and would have to guess who came to their door, but I was painfully familiar with protocols and methodology that originated from SMERSH.
SMERSH was a highly efficient and deadly agency focused on counterintelligence and dealing with deserters. When it was disbanded after the Cold War, The Red Room took everything from them — their methodology, experience, and training—and turned it a few notches up, making it even more brutal and lethal.
It looks like Red Room came to pick up their wayward daughter or at least make sure that I was dealt with.
I hoped it would take them longer to find me and that I would have enough time to prepare and make my move first, but that was out of the window now.
I realised they got help. Could it be HYDRA doing it? It's possible but less probable. Maybe Fury? He liked to play games like that and then watch what happened. Any confrontation with them will lead to my cover blowing away. If I engage them, I have no chance. My only option is to run away. If I do just that, SHIELD benefits the most. Definitely, it is Fury doing it, then.
I absently played with a kitchen knife in my left hand while thinking about what to do. Well, I planned to take Dreykov down, didn't I? It sounds like a plan; I just need to be really smart about it, not like last time. It was not fun to hide in an old subway station for days, and I am not in dire need of repeating the experience.
I typed my barebone plan and reasons to Jarvis, asking Stark for assistance. Ten minutes later, I had a business class ticket to New York.
I was able to get out of my apartment before they mounted an assault and slipped out unnoticed. It's not for nothing I was named The Black Widow.
For the four hours it took me to land at JFK, I was rehashing my plan.
The first step in my plan was a cover story for my journey to New York, which Jarvis took care of. I now have a legitimate reason to go there. Apparently, I am chasing the cheating wife of one of the SI managers, and she was coincidentally on the plane with me. I took a few discreet pictures for a later report.
The next step is to leave the US and return later without leaving any evidence of having done so. If I manage to lose the Red Room operatives in the process, all the better.
As soon as I got out of the airport, I headed to the parking lot. There, I picked up documents, a proper uniform, and luggage from an unremarkable van. The door was left open for me, giving me space to change. This was all Jarvis's doing, of course.
My cover story was quite simple: I was portraying a last-minute replacement for an unlucky girl who got stuck in an elevator on her way to work. It was purely coincidental, I'm sure, and had nothing to do with me.
On the way back to the airport, I left my original documents, luggage, and clothes in a rented car that would be waiting for my return. For some unknown reason, it would be seen driving around New York, following Mrs Janson's location.
I passed security and hurried to the cargo plane I was assigned to. The crew and the plane were already on standby, waiting for me. Nobody wanted to miss the scheduled departure window. In less than fifteen minutes, we took off in the direction of Budapest.
🕷
At first, I planned to blow up Dreykov again, just in a different way. Stark disagreed, saying that I simply didn't have the proper tools before. When I read the list of equipment, Stark was going to provide me with - I made a new plan — this time without blowing up buildings, running from local forces, or other excitement. After all, it didn't work last time, so there was no need to try and repeat it again.
While I was in transit, J. started supplying me with all kinds of information that I would have died (or at least killed someone) to have in the original timeline. I had Dreykov's schedule, travel routes, frequently visited places, and even records of his phone calls.
Back in the future, when Ultron happened, we were terrified of that AI. Now I suspect that Ultron had nothing on Jarvis. If Jarvis decided to wipe out all of humanity, we would stand no chance at all.
Jarvis was terrifyingly efficient.
🕷
When I landed in Budapest, I had three days of leave while the plane's cargo was unloaded and reloaded. This gave me enough time to execute my plan and finish my mission here before anyone caught wind of my absence from the US.
I rented a car and drove to my first pickup stop. Stark (but mostly Jarvis, I'm sure) had organised gear, ammunition, and other tools to be delivered for this mission. I didn't even want to know how.
I have good sniper training, and I am proud of my skills. Nothing exceptional, especially compared to Clint, but it's not bad, either. The problem with using it on Dreykov lies in the distance. The closest acceptable position that is not under monitoring is approximately five miles away. Even Clint dismissed it as a viable option at the original time.
I had doubts at first as well, but when Jarvis supplied all the necessary adjustments to make the shot, it became much easier to put Dreykov down this way, and I was happy to do just that.
Unfortunately, Jarvis discovered that the computer where Dreykov kept important information about the Red Room was air-gapped, and there was no way for him to access it. I made the mistake of focusing only on Dreykov the first time, which led to disastrous consequences. Not only did I fail to kill him, but I also left the Red Room files untouched.
To completely shut the Red Room down, we need to not only eliminate Dreykov but also ensure that nobody picks up where he left off. Leaving the files behind is not an option.
That's why I found myself in the best Stark military gear, flying over the old town area in the middle of the night.
I didn't get an Iron Man suit—not really—but Stark was able to supply me with a jump pack with carbon-kevlar wings. (I made the mistake of calling it a jetpack and had to endure Stark's rant about the impossibility of controlling jetpacks without supplemental sources of thrust.)
I used the jump pack to gain a thousand feet in the air and then glided to the target. My helmet was equipped with night thermal vision. Add to that a screen that Jarvis used to adjust my trajectory, speed, and vector, and you have gear that was a decade ahead of its time.
Part of me felt a thrill and excitement, while another part felt dread and anxiety about repeating the same clusterfuck as last time. I pushed those feelings aside and focused on the mission.
I was approaching the target.
🕷
I landed on the roof after executing a strange manoeuvre. Well, it was really Jarvis doing the work; I just had to follow instructions. Anyway, we were able to bleed off my horizontal speed by using gravity, wind resistance, and who knows what else. (I had tuned Stark out during my practice for this manoeuvre a few hours ago.) It was tricky and a bit hard to bleed off speed properly. I had to make a sharp turn upward, and with the help of some weird effects, I hovered in place for half a second. Then I fell from at least twenty feet. With the wings helping to slow down my fall, I landed safely. After that, the wings just collapsed into a barely visible backpack.
Jarvis visualised areas covered by detectors or potentially visible to patrols or posts. With his help, I slipped toward the target like a shadow. That's when I hit a metaphorical wall. They had put detectors on window frames, window glass and its integrity, doors, and even air displacement.
Jarvis directed me to use some tools to drill into the wall (the fuck). What was Stark doing to come up with ideas like that? It was quick, and the tool itself sealed the breach in the wall while providing wide enough access to the inside of the room to insert a controllable wire/USB extension/camera. I used it to turn on the computer and download everything, leaving nothing behind.
🕷
The next day, I was getting into position to snipe Dreykov from a distance that would make Clint jealous. I was aiming to shoot a mini rocket/missile instead of a bullet from five miles away from the Red Room building.
Initially, the missile would be launched from a railgun rifle and accelerated toward the target via electromagnetic propulsion. Then, the missile would use its own engine to adjust its trajectory.
I had to laser-guide the missile all the way to the target—the building entrance. So far, that has been the hardest part of the plan. Any minuscule twitch on my part at this distance would make the laser jump around the whole building. I had to be in accelerated perception just to keep it on target. With the missile travelling at around Mach 1.2 and a five-mile distance, there was no other way to do it.
It would be 8 a.m. local time when Dreykov arrived at the guarded complex that I raided last night. Jarvis would give me a countdown. The missile would get within 1,000 feet of the target by the time he opened the door.
Everything was accounted for, and I was ready for it.
"One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three, MA..." I heard Jarvis' voice giving me a countdown, and I accelerated my perception, making his voice stretch out in time.
On "MAAAA," I pressed the trigger and focused on keeping the laser guide system on the building entrance, where Dreykov should appear soon.
The five seconds it took for the missile to cover the distance with the initial push from the railgun felt endless. I usually can't hold accelerated perception for longer than six or seven seconds at a time, and it tires my brain quickly.
Jarvis continued to count seconds down to help me properly process time in my current state. Eventually, I heard the beginning of the stretched "fiiiiive," exactly when Dreykov reached the entrance door. I didn't release the trigger. It was a safety measure: if we had the wrong target, releasing the trigger would cause the missile to disintegrate safely, changing its direction in the sky.
Instead, it disintegrated Dreykov. He essentially evaporated into a red mist. I didn't want to give him any chance of being saved, and luckily, I had the means to ensure that.
In three hours, I will be in Belgrade — my next and last place to be. Dreykov kept his backup data there, which we discovered from his files. The backup needs to be destroyed to ensure nobody can pick up where he left off. Once that's done, my job here is complete.
🕷
The same evening, I walked into a local bank that provided anonymous deposit boxes. All you needed was the code and the box number.
Instead of removing everything, Stark proposed replacing the important data with a trojan. This way, we could track who accessed the backup. I wanted to be sure that the Red Room never happened again, and Stark was fully on board with the plan.
I was in and out in fifteen minutes. Unfortunately, it was not the end of it.
When I was already out of the bank, my senses flared up, and I saw General Greykov, one of the GRU curators, and he recognised me.
I had a split second to decide: fight or flight. I ran. Two of his guards followed me while he ran up the stairs to the bank, probably to check the deposit.
His guards were not the sharpest, but they were fit and well-trained. I had my share of "training" with them before. Not exactly these two, but I knew what Greykov preferred in his subordinates and guards. The longer they were on my tail, the more likely their backup would arrive, and I was sure the other four were already on interception vectors.
"Turn left here," I heard Jarvis' voice in the earpiece and immediately followed his instruction.
Somehow, Jarvis was able to see my surroundings. I wouldn't be surprised if Stark had pointed one of the satellites to do just that.
I saw why Jarvis asked me to turn there — after another sharp turn, I encountered a group of bikers standing in a circle, watching someone demonstrate a proper drift on a sportbike.
"Помозите, помозите ми," I screamed, faking a terrified voice.
Part of the group turned around and looked in my direction. They saw a pretty girl running from two fit guys and made a quick conclusion. People like that usually don't need many reasons to break someone's face. If a pretty girl is involved, well, anyone can guess what would happen.
Still, it wouldn't stop my pursuers for long. I had just enough time to notice one bike with the keys still in it, and I was on it in seconds.
I was barely thirty feet away when I heard shots behind me. Bullets whistled over my head, and the right mirror shattered into pieces of sharp glass. I managed to get away unscathed, but it was a close call.
Thanks to Jarvis, I avoided any police patrols or CCTV. I soon abandoned the motorcycle and made my way to my rented car, which I had parked some distance away before going to the bank.
For the next few hours, I did loops and circles around Belgrade to leave unnoticed. There were no more encounters with GRU, thanks to Jarvis' guidance, and I was on my way back to Budapest.
🕷
Sneaking back into the country with Jarvis's help was as easy as sneaking out.
Soon, I was driving to the location where Mrs Janson would be in the next half hour. I was in the same rented car that Jarvis had made sure was seen all around New York, following Mrs Janson.
Terrifying, I thought to myself and smiled.
A few hours later, I was on a pedestrian bridge with a long-range camera, taking photos of Mrs Janson making out with a guy at a street café.
"Miss Romanova," I heard from behind me. I turned around to see what I already knew from the voice — Clint.
The likelihood that SHIELD would approach me as soon as the Red Room's destruction became public knowledge was high. We accounted for that, too.
"You look hella familiar," I replied and blew a bubble.
"Agent Barton, we met a week ago at the LA airport," he replied, showing his badge.
"What's that?" I asked, looking at the badge with interest.
He rolled his eyes and showed the badge again, saying, "Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. In short, SHIELD."
"Someone hella wanted to name it SHIELD, yeah?" I smirked back.
He made a show of blowing out a suffering breath, then leaned on the rails next to me, looking at the same making-out couple, and said in a calm and collected voice:
"We wouldn't say no to someone of your calibre joining us."
"Me? Dude, you folks runnin' low on detectives or somethin'? Just 'cause I found Mrs Janson?" I said, gesturing to my alibi.
He gave me a sharp glare, pulled out a stack of pictures from an inside pocket, and said:
"As you can see, we were able to take a few pictures while you were gallivanting around Europe for the last couple of days."
I gave him a surprised look and took the pictures.
They were of poor quality. It's hard to find CCTV with good resolution in 2008. Some of them were even edited by Jarvis, and they didn't notice that. The images were similar enough to suggest a resemblance, but no distinct features were visible.
We left them on purpose, ensuring there were enough similarities with room for doubt.
"Wow, this chick looks hella like me," I commented after a few pictures.
I whistled when I saw my picture on a motorcycle drifting into the next turn.
"I can totally do that," I smiled at Clint and showed him the picture. He twitched; his expression was like someone biting into a lemon. He sharply took the photos from my hand.
"Hey, I ain't seen everything yet!" I loudly complained.
"Miss Romanova, or should I say Black Widow?" he said, locking eyes with mine, probably waiting for me to crack my ruse.
"Is that the person in your pics?" I interrupted him excitedly. "Why the 'Black Widow'? Did she kill her many husbands?"
"Please, enough." Clint said forcefully, almost grinding his teeth.
"We don't know how you were able to get out of the country and then get back in without leaving any evidence, but we know that it was you who eliminated Dreykov. The Red Room is no more. Coincidentally, General Greykov died of a heart attack a few hours ago. We consider your last operation a masterpiece. We could really use someone with your experience in SHIELD. Please consider. We will be watching you."
After that, he turned around and walked away without another word. Knowing Clint as I did, he basically ran away. I almost giggled with sadistic glee.
🕷
I was back in LA the same day. Even if SHIELD suspected me of being the Black Widow, I kept up the ruse. As soon as I was back in my office, I organised the pictures to be sent to Mr Janson by email with a message that the job was done, proof was attached, and my bank account information was provided for payment.
I'm sure I'll get paid for it. I don't want to think about how Jarvis will smooth things out on the other side, but I don't doubt he will.
Speaking of the devil, I got an incoming call on the computer from Jarvis.
"Hey, Jarvis," I said as soon as the connection went through. There was no video feed, just a voice.
"Welcome back, Miss Romanova," he replied smoothly and continued, "There are some matters we need to discuss. Please review the file."
The first thing I noticed was that Jarvis had liberated about 100 million dollars from the Red Room. In the next section, he listed what he had spent it on. While I was getting back to the US, he leaked the Red Room files to the mass media worldwide.
He made sure that each girl who was killed in the Red Room was mentioned in the leaked files.
As I went down the list, I recognised some of them. They were taken out of the program, and we never saw them again — others I killed personally just to survive. Dreykov was fond of mortal fights between girls to the death and used them to keep us in line. The Red Room always had a fresh batch of young girls to train (and kill).
Jarvis found information on all of them, including whoever had survived up to this point in time and any relatives who were alive. He made sure to inform the relatives about their lost girls and organised public pressure on the Russian Government, not only from inside the country but from outside as well, to prevent kids from disappearing.
Then, he opened an account for each girl with their share of the Red Room money. They would be able to use the money as soon as they were of age.
He did the same for each graduate but sent them a message that their existence had been erased from the Red Room files and that they were free to do whatever they wanted.
Tears were running down my face when I reached the end of the file.
"Thank you, Jarvis," I whispered through my spasming throat, not even trying to hold back my sobs. "Thank you."
It took some time to calm down and finally dry out my emotions and tears. I felt as light as a feather. Something inside of me had loosened up and uncoiled.
Unfortunately, there was still one bitter decision left to make:
Remaining balance: 35 million.
"Jarvis, can you make sure that whatever is left is directed to help kids in need, please?" I asked him, blowing my nose with a napkin.
"As you wish, Miss Romanova."
🕷
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GorMartsen
GorMartsen I updated the chapter and fixed the grammar issues. But I kept some sentences with unusual structures, letting my Soviet Union background shine through the Nat.
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