Chapter 900

"Watch your left!"

Just after dawn, a young Black man in a gray T-shirt, running shorts, and sneakers was jogging along a quiet road when someone came speeding up behind him.

The runner shot past, tossed out a casual warning, and accelerated away with a ridiculous amount of swagger. His legs moved like they were powered by an engine, and his backside bounced with every stride.

The young man barely had time to process what had happened before the stranger circled back around.

"Watch your left!"

Then he was gone again.

It happened over and over. The stranger seemed to be running laps around him, and every time he passed, he delivered the exact same warning.

"Would you stop saying that? Seriously, stop!"

The young man was beginning to feel personally attacked.

"Watch your left."

The speed demon delivered the line again with infuriating cheerfulness.

"You have got to be kidding me!"

Unable to take it any longer, the young man accelerated and tried to catch up. Unfortunately, he’d already been running for a while. His energy reserves were nearly depleted, and the sudden burst of speed wrecked his rhythm. He managed a few strides before his legs gave out.

He staggered to a nearby tree, leaned against the trunk, and clutched his chest, gasping as though his lungs were preparing to file for early retirement.

A few moments later, the other runner strolled over with his hands on his hips.

"Need me to call a doctor?"

He wore a gray T-shirt and blue athletic pants. Beneath the casual clothing was a solid frame packed with muscle, but his breathing was steady, and he barely seemed to have broken a sweat.

"I might need a lung transplant," the young man wheezed.

He stared at the newcomer in disbelief.

"Buddy, you just ran thirteen kilometers in thirty minutes."

"So I got up late. Had to make up for it."

The young man gave him a look of pure exhaustion.

"Seriously? You have absolutely no shame."

He managed a tired laugh.

"Go on, then. Run another lap. You already did, didn’t you?"

The stranger glanced at the gray shirt the young man was wearing. It bore the insignia of a military unit.

"Which unit were you with?"

"Fifty-eighth Airborne Division, rescue team."

The young man struggled upright and offered his hand.

"I work at the Department of Veterans Affairs now. Sam Wilson."

"Steve Rogers."

Steve shook his hand, then helped him to his feet.

Sam grinned. "Figured as much."

Given his military background, he’d studied Captain America’s exploits. Combine that with the man’s frankly inhuman running speed, and identifying him hadn’t been especially difficult.

For Steve, the early-morning run wasn’t really exercise. It wasn’t even much of a habit.

He’d spent a few months in conventional military training, but most of his time in uniform had been devoted to special assignments. Whether he was wearing a theatrical costume to sell war bonds or fighting on the front lines as a superhero, he’d rarely had the opportunity to participate in a proper morning run.

These days, he ran for a rather different reason.

His girlfriend wasn’t home, and he had enough energy to power a small city. Burning some of it off through exercise seemed like a sensible alternative to getting himself into trouble.

Steve was, by most standards, a disciplined man. The Super-Soldier Serum had accelerated his metabolism several times beyond normal human levels, and certain other aspects of his physiology had become correspondingly more demanding. Considering that, his current restraint was practically heroic.

Still, there was only so much a man could endure.

He’d managed to live alone for decades without complaint. But now that he had a girlfriend who officially lived with him, why exactly was he supposed to keep acting like a monk?

When Peggy Carter had been staying with him, Steve had enjoyed himself quite thoroughly. The occasional domestic violence had been a small price to pay.

Unfortunately, his good fortune hadn’t lasted.

One day, Peggy had suddenly announced that she needed to visit her family. She’d offered a perfectly reasonable explanation, packed her things, and left him alone in an apartment that had never seemed quite so empty.

The suffering was real.

Before Peggy, he’d never known what he was missing. After Peggy, he knew exactly what he was missing—and had to go back to living without it.

A cruel joke, really.

Steve and Sam exchanged a few stories about their military experiences and the difficulties of adjusting to civilian life. Then Steve’s phone vibrated.

He pulled it out and checked the message.

Emergency assignment. Report immediately.

"Looks like I’ve got somewhere to be." Steve slipped his phone away. "Good seeing you, Sam."

"Come visit sometime," Sam called after him. "I’ve got a receptionist I’d love to impress."

"I’ll see what I can do."

Steve had barely finished speaking when a black sports car pulled up beside him.

Calling it a sports car was generous. It looked suspiciously like someone had taken a Wuling Hongguang minivan and tried to turn it into a racing machine.

The passenger window rolled down, revealing Natasha Romanoff.

"Excuse me," she said with an innocent smile. "Could you tell me how to get to the museum? I’m supposed to pick up a fossil on my way to work."

Steve opened the passenger door.

"That’s a terrible joke."

He climbed in and took a closer look at Natasha’s appearance. She’d gone without makeup and straightened her hair, giving herself an unusually plain look.

He smirked.

"What happened? You and your girlfriend still giving each other the cold shoulder?"

Steve looked far too pleased with himself.

At least he wasn’t the only one in their circle experiencing a temporary spell of involuntary bachelorhood.

"Don’t start." Natasha rolled her eyes, started the engine, and drove toward headquarters.

By the time they reached the actual mission site, it was the middle of the night.

That was only a matter of time zones, of course. Their destination was in the Indian Ocean.

Aboard a SHIELD Quinjet, Steve had changed into a black stealth suit issued by the agency. Even the paint had been stripped from his trademark shield, leaving its familiar design concealed.

He wasn’t alone on the aircraft. Natasha was there, along with an assault team led by Brock Rumlow.

Rumlow brought them up to speed.

"The Lemurian Star is a mobile satellite launch platform operated by SHIELD. The pirates boarded her ninety-three minutes ago, while the crew was launching the final satellite."

"What are their demands?" Steve asked.

Pirates didn’t seize an entire ship just to sell it for scrap. There had to be a reason, and there was usually a ransom involved.

"Fifteen hundred million dollars," Rumlow replied.

Steve stared at him.

"That’s a lot of money."

Fifteen hundred million? The pirates were certainly aiming high. Maybe they’d originally asked for a hundred million, only for the captain to offer five hundred million in exchange for an invoice claiming they’d received fifteen hundred million.

Rumlow’s expression remained flat.

"It’s a SHIELD ship."

That explained the price.

"So the ship didn’t just drift off course. We were operating in their waters illegally?" Steve asked, his tone souring. "Wonderful. I can’t wait to hear Nick Fury’s explanation for this one."

The Indian Ocean was a long way from SHIELD’s comfort zone. More specifically, the ship had entered waters claimed by a country that wasn’t particularly interested in letting the agency operate freely within its jurisdiction.

The political dispute was hardly a secret. If SHIELD wasn’t going to support the country’s bid for a permanent seat on the UN Security Council, then the country wasn’t going to make things easy for SHIELD.

And SHIELD’s response had essentially been, You want to stop us? Come and try.

The agency could be remarkably stubborn when it wanted something done.

Unfortunately, stubbornness didn’t make its actions legal. Whatever the political justifications, the operation had violated international law.

"They must have had a reason for coming here," Natasha remarked.

She tilted her head, thinking.

Despite her high clearance, she hadn’t been given the full details about the ship. In fact, she’d deliberately taken on her current low-profile appearance and distanced herself from Sarah, even though their relationship had only recently settled into a comfortable rhythm, in order to investigate a particular project connected to the vessel.

She hadn’t made much progress.

Now, at last, she had a chance to investigate the ship firsthand. Once the mission was over, she hoped she’d be able to take some time off.

She also hoped Sarah would forgive her for disappearing without a proper explanation. More importantly, she hoped Sarah hadn’t found someone else.

Absence made the heart grow fonder, or so people said. Natasha had never been particularly fond of clichés, but she was beginning to appreciate this one.

She missed Sarah.

Especially that strong, flexible little tail of hers.

"Anyway," Steve said, mercifully bringing the conversation back to business, "how many hostiles are we dealing with?"

"Twenty-five," Rumlow answered. "They’re led by Georges Batroc, a former external security specialist. He’s wanted by Interpol. Before his organization was dismantled, he carried out thirty-six assassination missions without a single failure."

Rumlow was relieved that Steve hadn’t pursued the question of SHIELD’s illegal operation. The last thing he needed was the Captain turning the mission briefing into a lecture on international law.

The situation was already bad enough.

When Pierce had learned that the Lemurian Star had been hijacked, he’d nearly suffered a stroke. The vessel was a crucial component of Project Insight, responsible for launching the Insight satellites.

And now pirates had seized it.

Pierce had issued Rumlow an order in no uncertain terms: recover the ship at any cost. Failure wasn’t an option. If Rumlow and his team couldn’t bring it back, they might as well jump into the ocean and feed the sharks.

"The hostages are mostly technical personnel," Rumlow continued. "The administrative director is Jasper Sitwell."

"What is he doing aboard a ship like that?"

Steve frowned. A vessel this important should have had a serious security detail. Instead, its only SHIELD agent appeared to be an administrator. No wonder the pirates had taken it so easily.

Steve moved on.

"All right. I’ll clear the main deck. Natasha, shut down the engines. Rumlow, take the stern. We’ll secure the ship and get the hostages out."

He tightened his grip on the shield, crossed to the aircraft’s open bay, and prepared to jump.

Then he glanced at Natasha.

"By the way, I’m old-fashioned in some respects, but I’m not old-fashioned about who you date. I really don’t care about your orientation."

Natasha gave him a suspicious look.

Steve pulled on his helmet and peered down at the dark ocean, speaking as casually as if they were discussing the weather.

"The best way to get over someone is to find someone new. If you and your girlfriend broke up, you could always start dating again. What about that nurse in the medical department? Christine, was it?"

"We didn’t break up!" Natasha snapped. "We’re just not in a position to see each other right now."

She planted a hand on her hip.

"And now, get down there!"

Her boot shot forward.

Steve went over the edge.

One of Rumlow’s men, a particularly intimidating-looking fellow, watched him disappear into the darkness.

"Uh... Captain Rogers isn’t wearing a parachute."

"Don’t worry about it," Natasha said.

She didn’t even glance over the edge.

"He wasn’t planning to use one."

A moment later—

SPLASH!

She was right. At that altitude, Steve didn’t need a parachute. He adjusted his posture in midair, streamlined his body, and entered the water feet-first.

From the Quinjet, the maneuver would have earned a perfect score from any Olympic diving judge.

Then he surfaced, kicked hard, and began swimming toward the ship.

For a few moments, everything proceeded according to plan.

Then, halfway to the Lemurian Star, Steve’s voice crackled through the communications system.

"Guys, something’s wrong."

Rumlow stiffened.

"What is it?"

He was now more worried about something going wrong than anyone else on the aircraft. Given Pierce’s instructions, that was hardly surprising.

"I’ve found a body."

Steve floated on the dark water, one hand gripping the body of an armed man in full tactical gear. The ship’s lights were dim, but his enhanced eyesight let him make out other shapes drifting nearby.

There wasn’t just one corpse.

"There’s more than one," he added.

Natasha frowned.

"Why would there be bodies? The deadline hasn’t passed. The pirates shouldn’t have started killing hostages yet."

"That’s because I don’t think these are hostages."

Steve’s voice carried a note of surprise.

"They look like the pirates themselves. I can see Batroc. He’s floating right beside me."

"What?" Rumlow blurted.

He immediately arrived at the most obvious explanation.

"Someone hit them from the inside? A rival crew?"

"Could be. I don’t know yet."

Steve released Batroc’s body and examined the others. He turned the dead man’s head to inspect the wound, then swam to another corpse.

"They were killed with bladed weapons. Batroc appears to have been stabbed in the neck with a long, narrow blade. It went diagonally into his chest cavity."

He checked the weapons attached to the bodies, then removed a magazine and inspected it.

"And they seem to have been caught completely off guard. Their magazines are full. Not a single shot fired. Some of them hadn’t even switched off the safety."

"Assassins?" Natasha asked, her eyes narrowing.

The evidence pointed in that direction. But the implication was extraordinary.

Batroc’s people were experienced professionals. Their leader had completed thirty-six assassination missions without a single failure. If an entire team like that had been wiped out by assassins, whoever had done it was operating on a very different level.

Steve continued examining the bodies.

Then he found something lodged near one man’s neck and another embedded in his chest. He pulled the objects free and held them up for a closer look.

"There’s something else."

He turned one of them over in his hand.

"I was frozen before the war in the Pacific, so I missed that entire part of history. Can someone tell me if ninjas are actually real?"

Natasha’s eyes shifted.

"Why are you asking that?"

Steve examined the four-pointed metal star in his hand.

"Because I think this is called a shuriken."

So they’re here.

On the roof of the Lemurian Star, a dozen or so figures crouched in the darkness. They wore black outfits and sunglasses, an outfit that would have been impressively useless for anyone with ordinary eyesight.

After all, wearing sunglasses in the middle of the night was an excellent way to blind yourself.

These people, however, could see perfectly well.

Their unusual eyes allowed them to watch everything: Steve inspecting the bodies in the water, the SHIELD Quinjet circling overhead, and the activity on the deck below.

Their sunglasses weren’t equipped with night vision. They were cheap enough to cost only a few dollars.

The expensive equipment was built into their eyes.

The woman at the front adjusted her sunglasses and glanced back at her companions. Her expression was relaxed, almost amused.

"Teacher for a day, father for life," she said. "And that man is practically our father-in-law. We really shouldn’t pick a fight with him."

She was Galia, Peggy Carter’s most accomplished student.

"Let’s withdraw."

The group slipped from the roof and returned to the interior of the ship.

And then someone used a summoning stone to teleport them away.

Galia was the last to leave. Before departing, she turned toward a woman kneeling on the floor in a dark blue stealth outfit.

"The rest is up to you," Galia said. "Don’t disappoint the two Lords who entrusted this mission to us."

The kneeling woman bowed her head.

"Yes! I will carry out the Great General’s orders without fail!"

She began to recite her oath, speaking automatically.

"As long as I live—"

She stopped.

The old wording had been changed by the Kampaku. She corrected herself at once.

"Better to live with honor than die in disgrace!"

...