Chapter 30
Harry had been in Monaco for only a few hours and already felt like he'd consumed a month's worth of champagne, juicy gossip, and rich, snobby nonsense. The restaurant buzzed with the sort of energy that only came from having more money than sense. Three women sat at the bar, glittering in designer dresses. They were allegedly famous, but Harry had no idea if that was true. The blonde in the center had already sent Harry two drinks, a napkin with her room number, and a smile that looked like an open-ended invitation.
He took the third drink in stride. When he turned to signal thanks, she and her two friends were already standing inches away. The blonde wore a white dress cut low enough to draw every eye to her buxom chest. Her friends, a tall redhead with one of those impossible waistlines and a short, curvy brunette in sequins, never left her side.
"You're Harry Potter, aren't you?" the blonde purred in a sexy French accent.
He gave her his best charming smile. "Guilty as charged."
The brunette looped an arm through his, making sure to rub her impressive breasts against his bicep. "Is it true that you're now richer than Tony Stark?"
"I'm so rich that I've got Tony begging me to foot his bills," Harry smirked. The redhead snorted and sipped her cocktail. This, of course, was a bit of a fabrication. While Harry was now officially a billionaire, Tony was still way richer than he was.
The blonde pulled a digital camera from her purse. "Take a picture with us?"
Harry leaned in, put his arms around all three, and grinned for the camera. His hands were firmly on the blonde's and redhead's round, juicy asses. The brunette pressed her lips to his cheek at the last second, and the flash went off just as she did it.
"Send it to my PR team," Harry said. "They'll want a copy." Harry just wanted the copy for himself.
The blonde looked at the photo on the camera screen, then kissed his jaw just below the ear. "We're on the guest list for the Amber Lounge party tonight," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Will we see you there?"
Harry tucked a stray hair behind her ear. "Only if you promise that we'll get sloppy drunk and make a complete spectacle of ourselves."
"That's half the fun," the redhead giggled.
Harry extracted himself with a smile and a promise to definitely see them again. He walked back to the table with a spring in his step and a lipstick print on his jaw.
Pepper and Happy sat alone at the table. Happy was having a quick meal, and Pepper had her phone in one hand and a glass of white wine in the other. She glanced up as Harry slid into the chair opposite her.
"Is it always like this?" he asked.
Pepper didn't look up. "With Tony involved? Yes."
Happy snorted. He set his glass down and followed their gaze. The terrace overlooked the entire starting line, which was a checkerboard pattern painted on the street. Everyone in the restaurant was excited about the race, but Pepper looked none too pleased. Dignitaries, oil barons, and their surgically-altered companions lined the terrace edge, all eyes turned to the racetrack below.
"Where's Tony?" Harry asked.
Pepper set her phone down and stared at him like he'd asked where the sun went at night. "Where do you think he is?"
Happy pointed his fork at the track. "He's been gone twenty minutes. He said he had to stretch his legs and meet a business partner."
Harry craned his neck and, after a moment, spotted Tony on the main straight, a hundred meters from the starting line. He wore a red-and-gold racing suit with his own name embroidered across the shoulders, and he was waving like an idiot at the cheering crowd. Tony was smiling widely, and he looked to be having the time of his life.
He carried a racing helmet under his arm and mugged for the nearest TV crew. The crowd went wild. Tony grinned and mimed blowing a kiss to the stands.
Harry shook his head and sipped the drink. "He's going to kill himself."
Pepper's voice was strained and resigned. "That would be the most Tony way to die."
On cue, Tony jogged to his car, which was a low-slung silver beast plastered with sponsor logos and the Stark Industries logo on the nose. He climbed in, buckled up, and grinned at the nearest camera. Two mechanics fussed around the car, then one handed Tony a pair of racing gloves and patted him on the shoulder. Tony gave the mechanic a thumbs-up, then pulled on the helmet.
A commentator's voice echoed through the speakers in the restaurant. "And on the grid today, we have a very special guest driver. Tony Stark, the infamous womanizer and genius behind Stark Industries, has entered himself in today's race."
People in the restaurant clapped and hollered. Pepper rolled her eyes, but she looked more nervous than excited. "If he dies, I'm putting you in charge of his estate," she said to Harry.
Happy stared out the window. "He'll be fine. Probably."
Harry finished his drink and watched the pit crew roll Tony's car onto the grid. The other drivers looked at Tony, then collectively shrugged. The race starter raised a green flag. The crowd fell silent as engines revved. Harry felt the tension building all the way into the restaurant.
Pepper set her wine down, her hands in her lap. "I swear to god, if he tries to drive that thing like the McLaren you made him, I'll …"
The starting lights flickered on. One by one, they turned red. The air was thick with excitement. Harry grinned and whispered, "Five bucks says he wins the whole damn thing."
"Not a chance. He'll crash within three laps, guaranteed," Happy snickered. Pepper sighed and started drinking again.
When the last red light went out, the race began.
Tony's car lurched off the line, wheels smoking, and rocketed down the main straight. The crowd screamed as he slotted into third place before the first corner, weaving like a man possessed. Harry watched, heart pounding, as Tony bullied the car through a chicane, nearly clipped a wall, and came out the other side with inches to spare.
"Jesus," Harry said. "He's actually good."
Pepper huffed. "That's what scares me. He's going to be too cocky and reckless."
The cars roared around the first lap, engines screaming, and the entire terrace vibrated with the noise and the thrill of it. Tony held the line and actually gained ground on the lead car.
Metal and Magic
By the third lap, Tony had worked his way up to second place and was driving like a madman. Harry, Pepper, and Happy watched from the restaurant, their eyes glued to the TV screen above the bar. The camera angles were insane. There were overhead shots, cockpit views, and slow-motion replays of every near-wreck. Pepper gnawed at her fingernails while Happy nursed a double espresso.
Harry drank mineral water and watched as Tony pulled off moves that were both reckless and spectacular. The crowd in the restaurant whooped. The next lap, the camera panned to a weird disturbance near the pit wall.
Happy pointed at the screen. "Who the hell is that?"
A man in an orange jumpsuit strode out onto the track. He looked like he belonged in a maximum-security prison, not on the grid at Monaco. He unzipped the front of his jumpsuit, revealing a glowing light on his chest, and his walk had the deliberate calm of someone who didn't care about what happened to them.
The announcer stammered. "Security breach on the circuit … we have an unidentified individual …" The sound cut out as the feed went to a wide shot. The orange-jumpsuit man pulled out two long, black batons.
The batons flickered and then exploded into arcs of white-blue energy, each seven feet long. The man grinned, then swung them once, slicing a track banner in half. The ends sizzled and glowed bright orange. Pepper gasped and grabbed Harry's forearm.
On the TV, the man tossed his head back and howled. The crowd in the stands shrank away, but the security guards hesitated, confused by the sight of electricity arcing around his hands. One guard tried to run at him, but the man flicked a whip in his direction, and the guard went down in a shower of sparks.
"That can't be real," Harry said, but he already knew it was.
The man stepped onto the track, just as a cluster of racecars rounded the curve. The lead car missed him by a hair, but the second car was less lucky. The man's whip sliced the carbon-fiber nose off like it was made of butter. The car spun, caught air, and tumbled end-over-end down the straight, scattering carbon shards everywhere. The third car veered wildly, tried to dodge, and slammed into the barriers.
The crowd screamed, and the camera cut to Tony's car, which was now closing on the orange-jumpsuit man.
Tony swerved, but the man squared up and swung both whips at the car. The whips came down, bit into the hood, and carved the entire front of the car off. Tony's car spun sideways, sparks and smoke billowing, then slammed to a stop a hundred meters down the track. Tony's helmet bounced off the steering wheel. He didn't move.
Pepper's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh god."
Harry watched as the orange-jumpsuit man strode toward Tony's car, whips humming. The TV zoomed in on the man's chest. The front of the jumpsuit had burned away, revealing a crude, circular arc reactor, glowing with pale blue light. His face was aged, his dark hair was greasy, and he had tattoos scattered across his chest, stomach, and arms.
Pepper turned to Harry, her eyes wild. "Do something!"
Harry nodded, already standing. "Happy, go get the suitcase from the trunk. The red one." Happy was already on his feet, moving faster than Harry had ever seen.
Pepper grabbed Harry's arm. "Get Tony out of there."
Harry squeezed her hand. "I'm on it." He ducked out of the restaurant, jogged to the elevator, and hit the button for the lobby. As the doors closed, he apparated away with a soft pop.
Metal and Magic
Tony always loved the Monaco circuit. The whole track was hazardous. The turns were too tight, and crashes were quite common. The tunnel was his favorite part. Every sense was compressed by speed and light, and the engine's scream reverberated off the walls, vibrating his bones.
He floored the accelerator and felt the car's tail wag as it hit the entrance to the tunnel. The roar amplified, rattling his skull. The onboard screen in the dash kept flashing sector times, but Tony barely registered them. He was here to prove a point. Nobody, not even world-class pros, could out-drive Tony Stark.
The tunnel spat him into a brief, blinding sun. The air smelled of burnt rubber and ocean brine. As he hit the merge onto the straight, Tony saw something he shouldn't have. There was a human figure standing dead center of the track, between him and the next corner.
The guy stood there without a care in the world, his greasy hair whipping in the wind. Tony saw the black batons in his hands and the long whips of electric energy. His brain went into survival mode.
Tony yanked the wheel. The car obeyed with a yelp, but it was too late. The guy raised both arms, and the whips exploded to life. The left whip came down on the nose, and the whole front of the car vaporized. The next instant, Tony was airborne, spinning, and the world blinked from racetrack to sky to crowd, over and over. The safety harness nearly broke his ribs as the car slammed into the barrier, flipped, and slid a hundred feet upside down, shedding pieces as it went.
He hung there for a second, and the blood rushed to his head. Everything was upside down and strangely silent except for the hiss of something melting. Tony groaned, braced himself, and tried to unbuckle, but the harness was jammed. The fire-retardant suit smelled singed. He reached for the emergency release, but his right arm was pinned down.
He risked a look through the mangled wreck. On the track, other cars were pinballing through the debris. The stands were losing their collective mind with a rolling wave of panic and fascination.
Then, the orange jumpsuit man started walking toward Tony. Up close, his face looked like it had lost a fight with a belt sander. The chest of his coveralls was scorched away, and something glowed blue from the center of his sternum. It was a circle of light, ugly and homemade.
Tony's mind spun through possibilities. Who was capable of creating a crude arc reactor, and where did they obtain the knowledge from?
The man reached the car and grinned, showing off his silver teeth. He raised a whip. Electricity hissed, and the air crackled. Tony braced himself, tried to move again, but his arm was trapped, and his legs were jammed in the wreck. He was about to die in a wrecked car, exactly the way every dumb magazine had predicted.
Then, a black bird swooped down from behind the man. Out of nowhere, the bird transformed midair into Harry, and he double-kicked the man straight in the middle of the back. Before Harry could hit the ground, he was back in his raven form, flying over to Tony. The man jerked forward, lost his balance, and the whip scorched the tarmac instead of Tony's face.
The man fell forward and landed face-first onto the hard street with a sickening thunk. Tony heard the moan groan pitifully. The bird landed by Tony's car and transformed back into Harry. Harry bent over and ducked his head so Tony could see his smiling face.
"Morning, sunshine," Harry said. He looked at Tony's arm. "Can you move?"
Tony tried. "No dice. Everything's pinned. You want to give me a hand before this lunatic broils my sorry ass?"
Harry chuckled. "Hang tight." He reached in, grabbed Tony by the collar, and apparated. Tony felt like he was being sucked through a very narrow straw.
Suddenly, Tony was standing on the side of the track, a good ten meters away from the car. He was upright and fully conscious. His arm was throbbing, but the rest of him was functional. Tony looked back at the car and breathed a sigh of relief. All things considered, he felt amazingly lucky to have survived.
"Teleportation. The answer to all of life's problems," Harry said.
The man with the whips was already pushing himself onto his knees. He looked at Harry, then at Tony, and bellowed a curse in what sounded like Russian.
Tony saw Pepper and Happy barreling toward him in the black rental car. Happy's brow was furrowed in concentration, but Pepper had the look of someone who was going to kill Tony herself if he died without permission.
The car screeched to a halt right near them. Happy jumped out, popped the trunk, and pulled out the suitcase Tony had asked him to bring. It was large, heavy, and fully metal. Tony looked at Harry. "It's time for some good old-fashioned ass-kicking."
Harry laughed. "I was hoping you'd say that."
Tony stepped on it, and the suitcase opened up. The panels unfurled like a blooming flower. Tony jammed his hands in and felt the suit start to build itself around his arms, then the shoulders, and then the torso. The pieces slid together, clicked, sealed, and within twenty seconds, Tony was armored up from head to toe in the emergency Iron Man suit. It was a bit slimmer than the usual, but Tony had to trade armor for portability. He turned to Happy, who stood with his mouth open.
"Get Pepper out of here," Tony said, then locked the faceplate down. The HUD lit up, all systems green. Happy nodded, jumped back into the car, and peeled away just as the Russian man got to his feet.
He could hear Harry and the Russian shouting at each other, but Tony tuned it out. He ran a quick diagnostic and powered the repulsors. It was time for some fun.
The Russian took a wild swing with the right whip, arcing straight for Harry's head. Harry ducked, rolled, and popped back up, a wand in hand. He shouted a word Tony didn't catch, and the ground in front of the Russian exploded in a shower of gravel. The Russian shielded his eyes, but didn't slow down. He just screamed and kept swinging blindly.
The Russian didn't flinch when Harry ran down the track, right toward him. Instead, he flicked his wrist and sent the first whip arcing toward Harry's face, sizzling with blue current. Harry, who had been running at full speed, dove and vanished in midair. The whip sheared through the spot where Harry had been, tearing a huge gouge into the street, and the Russian twisted, already scanning for his target's reappearance.
Tony barely had time to brace before the second whip snapped at him. The crack of energy was so loud it rattled his teeth behind the faceplate. He didn't try to catch it. Instead, he threw himself into a sideways roll, using the thrusters in his boots to launch himself clear of the impact. The whip gouged a foot-deep furrow into the tarmac, liquefying the painted lines and sending a spray of molten asphalt in every direction.
Harry popped back into reality fifteen feet behind the Russian, landing in a crouch with one hand on the ground. He immediately thrust his wand forward, and the Russian's boots seized to the ground, fusing instantly with the track surface. He tried to wrench himself free, but the spell held.
Tony, spotting the opening, rocketed right at the Russian's exposed side. He went for a shoulder tackle, but the Russian spun, twisting his entire torso. The right-hand whip lashed around, and the tip caught Tony across the helmet with a glancing blow. Sparks exploded across the HUD, half-blinding Tony, but the suit absorbed the hit, and he managed to lock his arms around the Russian's chest.
For a split second, Iron Man and the Russian brute were locked together. Tony could feel the arc reactor in the Russian's chest pulsing, sending feedback through his own suit's sensors. The Russian bared his teeth and brought both whips up, trying to slash Tony's arms with a crisscross of blue energy.
Harry reappeared on the Russian's other side, this time standing upright and looking more annoyed than heroic. He tapped the Russian on the shoulder with the tip of his wand and said, "Excuse me, comrade. You're needed in the medical tent." Then he delivered a hard punch directly to the Russian's jaw, sending a spray of blood and a silver tooth tumbling through the air.
The whips faltered, and their glow flickered. Tony seized the moment, disengaged one arm, and drove a repulsor blast point-blank into the Russian's sternum. There was a muffled thump, and the Russian's feet tore loose from his boots, sending him flying backward into a chainlink barricade. Metal links snapped, and the crowd behind it scrambled to get clear as the Russian crashed into and through the fence, hitting the ground hard.
He wasn't down for long. The Russian rolled, came up on one knee, and screamed. His face was a mask of blood and fury. He started swinging the whips in wild, concentric circles, carving up everything within a ten-foot radius. He sliced through camera booms, sponsor banners, and anything else in his way. The air was filled with the smell of burning metal, rock, and plastic.
Tony advanced, letting the suit's bulk absorb the flying debris. One whip coiled around his forearm, and he felt the heat and the static charge as it tried to melt through. But the upgrades Harry had placed on the armor did their job. The runes along the gauntlet glowed a deep blue, and the whip sizzled uselessly against the armor.
"Aw, did your toy break?" Tony taunted, gripping the whip with his free hand. He wound it twice around his arm, then yanked, hauling the Russian a step closer. The big man roared and tried to yank it back, but Tony had all the leverage.
With the Russian off-balance, Harry circled around and punched him in the kidney. The Russian howled and tried to reach back, but Tony yanked again, pulling him forward into a devastating left hook. The sound of the punch cracked over the noise of the crowd. Blood sprayed, teeth scattered, and the Russian dropped to one knee, clutching his mouth.
Tony looked at Harry through the HUD. "Do you want to finish him, or shall I?"
Harry dusted off his hands and shirt. "Be my guest."
Tony powered up both repulsors and set them to nonlethal. He planted his boots, aimed, and let both beams fly at the Russian's chest. The impact lifted the man clean off the ground and sent him tumbling end over end down the track. He came to rest in a smoking heap, and the whips shorted out and sparked on the ground beside him.
All around, police and security staff who'd been too scared to intervene now rushed the scene. A dozen men in riot gear wrestled the Russian into submission. He fought them every inch, spitting blood and cursing in a guttural snarl, but Harry had the last word. He flicked his wand, and the arc reactor ripped from his chest and lazily flew into Harry's outstretched hand. Harry handed it to Tony, who studied it for a moment before crushing it in his armored palm.
Tony, out of breath and running on pure adrenaline, slid the faceplate back and grinned at Harry. The crowd was screaming, some in terror, and some in awe. Harry soaked up the attention, bowing for the crowd before blowing kisses at the attractive female onlookers.
"Not bad for a morning's work," Harry said, wiping the guy's blood from his eyebrow.
Tony flexed his arm, which was blackened and still sizzling from the whip. "I'm going to need a new paint job."
"I'll take care of it later with a bit of magic," Harry replied, letting the Elder Wand vanish.
They turned together and played it up for the cameras, showing off for the crowd, and grinning like idiots. Photographers and reporters mobbed the edges of the track, yelling questions and angling for the best shots.
Pepper pushed through the scrum, looking both furious and relieved. She smacked Tony in the chest plate before breathing a sigh of relief. "You idiot," she whispered.
Harry caught a glimpse of himself on the Jumbotron and struck a heroic pose. He winked at the nearest camera, which only prompted the crowd to cheer louder.
For a second, the aftermath felt like a wild party. Medics crowded the Russian, who was now locked in steel shackles. Debris smoldered on the track, and the air was thick with black smoke.
Tony looked over at Harry, who was already posing for a picture with a group of cute Swedish girls. Tony shook his head, laughed, then turned to find Pepper already dialing someone on her phone. 'She's probably doing damage control,' Tony thought.
Iron Man and Harry Potter, modern gladiators as the papers would soon call them, stood in the wreckage of Monaco, soaking up the applause. It was one hell of a show.
Chapter 31
Harry was brushing his teeth in the bathroom when his phone lit up with a midnight call. He spat mint foam in the sink, checked the number, and grimaced. Natasha was out on a mission, and if she was calling him in the middle of it, then it definitely wasn't good. "Shit," he muttered, then answered it on speaker and set the phone on the counter.
There was silence on the other end, broken only by the crackle of a poor connection. Then Natasha spoke in a whisper. "Harry. I need a favor."
He wiped his mouth on a towel, flipped off the light, and moved into the bedroom. "I'd gathered as much. What's going on?"
There was a muffled grunt, then a hiss. "You know how sometimes I disappear for a week? I'm running into a bit of a problem with that." That was her way of saying, through an open connection, that her mission had gone poorly.
Harry could hear the wind howling and whistling through cracks, and maybe the low hum of a diesel engine. There was also a sound that he couldn't quite place. He tried to focus on her voice.
"Your connection is really poor," he said. "Where are you?"
She hesitated, then answered. "About fifty miles outside of Omsk. You know it?"
He didn't. "Not really," he said, and let the question hang.
"Siberia," she said flatly.
That explained the wind. "What kind of favor are we talking about?"
There was a shuffle, then he heard Natasha's breath go tight. "I'm being hunted by at least a dozen FSB, and maybe a couple of Spetsnaz, but they're wearing civvies. They're not subtle."
Harry was instantly more awake. "Are you inside or outside?"
"I'm in a cabin. It's some kind of old hunting lodge," she said. There was a hollow thunk, as if she'd just crouched down on wooden floorboards. "It's a bit derelict, but I have cover. For now."
"How bad is it?"
She snorted. "If I say 'very,' will you hurry up?"
"Send me a picture of any open space inside, and I'll get to you."
She fired off a curse in Russian. "Can you not just apparate to me directly?"
He was already throwing on some clothes. "No. I need to visualize the space I'm apparating to. Just give me ten square feet of empty space, and I'll get there."
She sighed. "Fine. I'll get you a picture. Make it quick. I'm down to my last few magazines." Harry heard the sharp whip-crack of gunfire. The phone rattled with it, and then the call dropped.
He felt his heartbeat speed up as he waited for a text. It came ninety seconds later. It was a blank text with just an image attachment from an unknown number. Harry opened it. The screen showed a rough interior. The walls and floors were made of discolored pine boards, and empty vodka bottles were scattered across the floor. It wasn't much, but it was all he needed.
He tried to imagine how Natasha looked, crouched there, trying to keep her hands steady as she took the picture. He wondered if she was hurt. Not wanting to waste any more time, he twisted and vanished from the mansion.
Metal and Magic
"Come on out, girl! We promise we won't hurt you!"
The voice was heavily accented, with a thread of professional calm that Natasha didn't like. She hunkered in the corner of the cabin, her handgun pointed at the left-hand window. There was the sound of a dozen boots crunching over the ground, snapping the dried branches that littered the area. She heard the click of a lighter, then laughter, and then the slap of someone's palm on a comrade's back.
She pressed her back to the wall and steadied her breathing. She counted the footsteps. They'd spread out. There were maybe two or three at the front, and the rest spread out in a loose crescent shape behind them. Someone called out in bad English. "You American bitch, why don't you come play? We just want to talk!"
Natasha peeked up and fired twice through the window. There was a yelp, a thud, and then one of the men howled in pain. "Fucking hell, she got me! Shoot her, shoot her now!" Bullets thundered against the cabin's brittle walls. Glass rained from the window, and splinters flew through the air. Natasha threw herself flat on the floor. Above her, planks buckled and then disintegrated.
She waited for a lull, then took a breath and rolled onto her back, gun ready. She craned her head up just enough to see the back door. A shadow shifted in the gap beneath it. They were planning to rush her, pin her down, and finish the job up close. It was the old Spetsnaz routine … overwhelm the enemy, then mop up. She grinned wickedly. Let them try.
Another voice shouted, "We have you surrounded! Last chance, Romanoff!"
They'd used her name. That meant this was a black-bag job. It might even have been sanctioned. Fury needed to know about this right away. Suddenly, a hand gripped her shoulder, and she nearly shot Harry in the throat.
He appeared in a wild swirl of displaced air, stumbled, then fell on his ass next to her. His face was pale, and he was sweating. "Jesus," he whispered. "There are a lot of them out there. Making friends again, I see."
"About time," she whispered. "You look like shit."
He gave her a pained grin. "Apparating into Siberia isn't as easy as you might think. I had to go through over a dozen apparition points."
She peered out the window, sighted movement, and fired. She heard a solid thunk and a gurgling scream. Someone swore and started shooting again. The cabin's entire left side exploded into dust.
Harry ducked lower, his eyes wide. "Boy, you really pissed them off."
Natasha tossed her hair and scowled. "I tend to do that."
Harry snorted. "So, what's the plan?"
She reached into her black duffel and pulled out a chunky slab of C4. The putty was already wired to her signal transmitter. "We lure them inside, blow the place, then mop up any survivors."
Harry bit back a laugh. "And people call me reckless."
She wrenched open a loose floorboard, then jammed the C4 under it. "Keep their attention, will you?"
He crawled to the kitchen doorway, stuck his wand through the jagged hole in the wall, and fired a few curses. There was a blue shimmer, and one of the men screamed as his thigh was slashed open. Natasha heard the rustle as they dragged the wounded man back.
Natasha risked a look through the front window. The nearest man was huddled behind a fallen tree, pointing his gun at the cabin. She sighted him, squeezed the trigger, and he folded instantly.
Then the back door caved in. A bald man in a black coat ducked in, his rifle at the ready. Natasha shot him twice in the chest, then Harry stunned his backup as he tripped through the doorway.
There was a lull. "They're regrouping," Harry said. "It's time to get out of here." He said this just as a few more shots peppered the cabin wall.
She finished setting up the C4, then pulled Harry close. "When I yell, apparate us behind the cabin, by the trees."
He nodded, then saw a cut on her head. "You're bleeding."
She touched her forehead. "It's just a graze."
She grabbed the detonator as Harry wrapped an arm around her waist. Natasha screamed loudly, sounding like she had been shot. Harry twisted on the spot, and they vanished in a pop of displaced air.
They landed in ankle-deep mud behind the battered hunting lodge, protected from view by a thick crop of trees. They were instantly swarmed by the relentless mosquitoes that bred in the stagnant pools surrounding the tree line. Harry hissed and swatted at his cheek, feeling the sting.
Harry drew his wand, muttered a quick anti-insect charm, and watched the mosquitoes drop in a fine, twitching rain. "That's why I stick to cities," he said, dusting mosquito carcasses off his arm. Natasha snorted and pressed her palm to her bleeding forehead.
From their position in the trees, they could see the lodge being advanced on. The Spetsnaz squad had fanned out, creeping low with raised rifles, assuming Natasha was still inside and wounded. She watched them, counting the heads. There were at least eight left she could see, clustered on the front porch. One of the men barked something in Russian and motioned the others forward. The point man sprinted for the door, leaping up the steps two at a time.
Natasha kept her hand steady, gripping the detonator and waiting for the perfect moment. She waited until the men behind him were bunched together, moving as a single unit, before she clicked the button.
The explosion was larger than Harry expected. The entire front quarter of the cabin vaporized in a burst of orange light and debris. The blast wave tore through the squad, tossing bodies backward as if they weighed nothing. Harry could feel the heat on his face, even from fifty meters away, as the shockwave snapped every branch in a ten-yard radius. The concussion sent a rain of splinters and smoking wreckage arcing over the field. Glass, burning timbers, and even a ragged sheaf of curtains rode the pressure wave, and it all scattered over the muddy clearing.
The two of them crouched low, watching the chaos unfold with professional detachment. Harry whistled quietly, impressed. "You know how to make an exit, Natasha."
Natasha's eyes glimmered. "It's all about timing." She took inventory of the carnage. At least half of the men were dead outright, their bodies torn to shreds by the blast. The rest writhed and howled on the ground, their skin blackened and torn.
Natasha let out a deep breath. She grabbed Harry and kissed him hard, letting her tongue slide into his mouth. He responded instantly, wrapping his arms around her and yanking her close. His hands slid down to her waist, and when she felt him squeeze her ass, she grinned against his mouth and let herself get lost in it for a moment or two.
Then they broke apart, and Natasha wiped a smear of dirt from Harry's cheek. "As fun as this is, we need to go before backup arrives. I have a car stashed two miles north, across the ridge. You think you can manage a sprint?"
"You bet," Harry said, letting go of her shapely bottom. "Lead the way."
They darted through the trees, keeping low and shifting direction every few seconds. Harry glanced back once, saw the lodge collapsing in on itself, and listened to the distant shouts as their backup finally arrived. Gunfire erupted, and Harry guessed that they were blindly shooting into the woods, hoping to hit Natasha. There was little chance of that happening, but he knew that those men were not going to let this go.
The path Natasha picked was not really a path at all. It was just a winding track through fallen trees and tangled roots, broken by occasional tracts of marsh and unthawed ice. She ran like she'd been born in the forest, ducking branches and vaulting over rotten logs with inhuman grace. Harry lagged behind, and he promised to get himself into better physical shape. He wiped sweat from his brow, swore at the mud sucking his boots down, and pressed on.
They heard the shouts behind them grow fainter as they faded deeper into the woods. Natasha didn't slow down, but she did start zigzagging more. She would double back at odd intervals and stop now and then to listen for pursuit. Harry realized she was listening for tails and trying to shake anyone who might be tracking them. Harry kept quiet and let her do her thing.
At one point, a flare shot up behind them, burning bright in the sky before slowly falling back toward the Earth. They both dropped to the ground instantly, flattening themselves against the wet earth. Harry turned his head and rested it on a soft patch of moss, breathing heavily from the run. He could see Natasha's face six inches from his.
"Drone," she whispered, and Harry realized she'd spotted a drone circling in the sky above the burning cabin.
Natasha got to her feet, pulling Harry up and steering him off the main game trail. They moved as silently as possible, trying their best to avoid patches of thin, dried branches on the ground.
Every hundred yards or so, Natasha would stop, crouch, and scan the woods with experienced eyes. Once, she signaled for Harry to freeze, and they waited for a solid minute. A pair of Spetsnaz operatives jogged past, less than ten yards away. One was whispering into a walkie-talkie, and the other kept scanning the treetops with his rifle. Harry pulled out his wand and wiggled it at Natasha. She shook her head, and he understood. She didn't want him giving their position away. They didn't see Harry or Natasha, and within seconds, they were gone. Natasha gave it another few minutes before they started off again.
They crested the first ridge and looked back. Though they couldn't see the destroyed cabin, they could see the dark smoke swirling through the bright blue sky. They skidded down the far side of the ridge and cut through a narrow gully. It was darker at the bottom, and the going was treacherous. Ice slicked every stone, and the roots snagged at their boots. Once, Harry slipped and slid on his ass for a few feet before Natasha caught his arm and yanked him upright.
"Careful," she whispered. "There's a river up ahead, and it's not frozen through. I hope you don't mind getting wet."
He nodded, sucking in lungfuls of air. "When we make it to the car, what then?"
"We drive," Natasha said. "We get as far from Omsk as possible. I'll contact Fury and tell him the mission was compromised from the beginning. He'll arrange a pickup." She said it with absolute certainty, like there was never any question of it working.
"What if they have checkpoints?" Harry asked.
"They will. But this isn't the first time a mission's gone sour. Just keep up."
They reached the river a few minutes later. It was a narrow, fast-moving channel, lined with slick, mossy rocks. Natasha signaled for Harry to cross first.
He carefully and quietly made it down the bank, his arms outstretched for balance. As he entered the water, Harry gasped. The water was freezing. Still, he continued onward with Natasha right behind him. At one point, Harry slipped on a smooth rock and fell waist-deep into the water. He shot back up, gasping from the icy cold water.
They hauled themselves up the bank with Natasha giggling at his misadventure. "You should see your face," she chuckled as Harry waved his wand and dried them both.
Within seconds, she was already moving, her eyes fixed on the woods ahead. They continued for another mile, always uphill and never in a straight line. Harry was visibly tired, and Natasha wasn't much better. Thankfully, their trek only lasted another twenty minutes before they found Natasha's stashed vehicle. It was an old, ragged Russian brand that would blend in well with all the others on the road. She motioned for him to get his ass in the car. A few minutes later, they were tearing down the back roads, trying to get as far away as they could.
Metal and Magic
They made it to Pavlodar just before midnight, and the battered Lada rattled along wide, cracked avenues lined with low, concrete towers and the occasional blinking neon sign. Natasha's driving was aggressive but careful. Harry slumped in the passenger seat, casting glances at every shadow and every car that tailed them for more than a block.
It had taken them longer than usual to reach Kazakhstan, but that was mainly because they kept to the back roads as much as possible. Even so, they had gone through several checkpoints. Luckily, the guards were no match for Harry's magic, and all it took was a swipe of his wand before their eyes went glassy and they waved them through.
They found the hotel Fury had picked for them. It was an ugly slab of Soviet architecture with a faded blue sign. The lobby was empty except for a hunched old woman behind the counter and a threadbare carpet that smelled of cigarettes. Natasha cut across the lobby, and Harry followed with her duffel slung over his shoulder. The clerk didn't look up as Natasha gave her the fake name and slid an envelope across the desk.
The elevator was barely big enough for both of them and the duffel bag. It creaked its way to the fifth floor and jerked to a stop. Its doors opened into a narrow, dimly lit hallway. Their room was at the far end, overlooking the courtyard and the glow of the city beyond. Harry opened the door and glanced in. After waving his wand and finding no one hiding inside, he waved Natasha in. She immediately checked the windows and the bathroom, then gave him a tight nod.
Harry dropped Natasha's duffel bag onto a chair and slumped down onto the edge of the bed. For a moment, they just quietly stared at each other. They had been running on adrenaline for hours, and neither was quite ready to put their guard down.
Eventually, Harry stood and began the process of warding the room. He moved from wall to wall, muttering charms and tapping the plaster with his wand. He layered magical alarms over every entry point. At the window, he pulled the thick curtain closed, hiding their room from the outside world.
He finished his sweep just as Natasha started stripping off her shirt. Harry tried not to stare, but it was impossible. The room was lit by a single lamp, and her curvy body cast long shadows across the walls. She peeled away her top, revealing a torso marked with fresh bruises. Harry stopped her, waved his wand at her bruises, and healed them instantly. Natasha smiled prettily and pecked him on the lips in thanks. Natasha then unhooked her bra with a flick of her wrist and let it fall. Her breasts were large, round, and perfect, and her nipples were already hard from the chilly night air. Harry felt his mouth go dry.
Natasha caught him staring and smirked. She unzipped her pants, wiggled her hips, and slid them down her legs. She stood there in nothing but a pair of tiny black panties. Never breaking eye contact with Harry, she hooked her thumbs under the waistband and tugged them free. Her pussy was clean-shaven and soft, and the taut lips were already glistening slightly. She stood there, totally nude, and let Harry take in the sight.
"You can join me …," she said. "... or you can keep working."
She turned and padded into the bathroom. Harry heard the water turn on, and the ancient pipes groaned in the walls. He yanked off his shirt in a single move. He kicked off his shoes and stepped out of his jeans. He followed Natasha into the bathroom, his cock already stiffening as he crossed the threshold.
The bathroom was damp and full of steam. Natasha was already in the shower, working shampoo into her red hair. She saw Harry in the mirror and grinned, then motioned for him to join. He stepped into the shower and found the water scalding hot.
Natasha turned and pressed herself against his chest. Her breasts were warm and heavy against him. She grabbed the bar of soap and lathered up her hands, then placed them flat on his chest and started rubbing. She worked down his torso, caressing the outline of his abs. She then slipped her soapy hands around his waist and over his ass. Harry tried not to shiver, but he did anyway.
She turned her back to him, pressed her ass against his groin, and reached up to soap her arms and shoulders. Harry couldn't help himself. He cupped her breasts from behind and kneaded them gently. Natasha let out a low, throaty moan and leaned into his touch. He rolled her nipples between his fingers until they were rock hard, and then trailed one hand down her stomach and over her mound. She spread her legs a little and arched her back into him, giving him full access to her damp slit and engorged clit.
He found her pussy and cupped it, feeling the smoothness of her mound and the heat of her slit. He started rubbing slow, soapy circles, working his way between her lips and her clit. Natasha's breathing grew ragged, and she reached back with one hand to grab his cock. Her grip was firm and sure, and she stroked him in rhythm with his own movements.
Their hands began moving faster and faster, until Natasha's knees started to buckle. She groaned and ground herself against his hand, and she let out a cute whimper as she came. Harry felt her juices mix with the soapy water, and it made his own need almost unbearable. He jerked his hips forward, sliding his cock up and between her cheeks, and Natasha squeezed him tightly.
"Don't stop," she gasped, her voice shaking with urgency.
Harry pumped his hand against her clit, while Natasha twisted her arm and jacked him with expert skill. That pushed him over the edge, and he came in a sudden rush, spurting hot white cum all over her ass and lower back. Natasha shuddered and squirted against his fingers. They stood there together, breathing heavily, as the shower water washed it all away.
Natasha turned around, her hair dripping and her pupils wide. She grabbed Harry's face and kissed him hungrily before letting go and laughing. "Thanks … I needed that," she said. Then she shut off the water and stepped out of the shower, leaving him there with his heart racing.
She toweled off, pulled her hair back into a sloppy bun, and did a quick check of her body in the mirror. She didn't bother to cover up. She just walked around the room naked as she checked her phone and loaded a fresh clip into her sidearm.
Harry followed her into the room, dried them with his wand, and sat on the edge of the bed. He watched her for a minute, admiring the way her gorgeous body moved.
She tossed his clothes at him. "Get dressed," she said. "You don't want to be caught naked if our room gets stormed."
Harry nodded and began getting dressed. "Do you think they'll come after you again?"
Natasha shrugged. "Eventually, but if they do, I'll be ready."
Harry got into bed while Natasha put some clothes on. Once dressed, she crawled into bed and cuddled up with him. Harry kissed the side of her head, and Natasha practically purred. She turned her head and kissed him deeply before lying her head back onto his chest. Harry had been awake for far too long, and within minutes, he was out like a light.
Chapter 32
Harry awoke to a high-pitched, magical ping in his ear. It was a sound only he could hear. It was a startling jolt in his skull that yanked him from his sleep. His eyes shot open, and his heart was pounding. The room was still dark. Harry's wand immediately appeared in his hand, and he flicked it at the door. The ghostly image of three men appeared on the other side of the hotel room wall. Someone was outside their door.
Natasha stirred with her head still resting on his chest. She blinked a couple of times before becoming alert. She squinted up at Harry. "What is it?" she whispered.
He pressed a finger to her lips and mouthed, "Ward." She stilled and instantly began running through different scenarios in her head. A second later, she slid out from under the covers and reached for the gun on the nightstand. Natasha then checked her phone for the time. It was 4:13 am local time.
Harry rolled out of bed, keeping his wand raised. He looked at the door, then pointed at the bathroom with a tilt of his head. Natasha nodded and eased across the threadbare carpet, her bare feet making no sound. She pressed herself against the wall beside the bathroom door. Natasha raised her handgun and waited for another signal.
Harry padded to the spot with the best sightline to the entryway. He flicked his wand and cast a silent Disillusionment Charm on Natasha. The air shimmered, and she vanished entirely. Only a faint distortion in the air showed where she moved, and even that vanished the moment she stilled.
Harry kept his back to the wall, and his wand pointed at the entrance. His mind raced. Harry wondered how they had found Natasha so quickly. Momentarily clearing his mind, he watched the door handle. It was old, brass, and loose. It jiggled quite badly when they had first entered. Now it trembled a few times before stilling.
Natasha was completely invisible, but Harry knew exactly where she was. He could picture her crouched, gun aimed, and eyes narrowed for maximum focus. The silence in the room was suffocating. Even his soft breathing felt too loud. Harry felt the familiar adrenaline rush, but now it was sharpened by the knowledge that Natasha was with him, and he was responsible for her safety.
The handle jiggled again. This time it was a little harder, and it made a soft rattling noise. Someone on the other side was using a lockpick as they worked the old Soviet tumblers back and forth. He took a couple of slow steps, getting a direct view of the door.
He signaled with his left hand, gesturing "ready on three." Natasha responded with a soft click of her pistol's safety. Harry silently counted … One … Two … Three.
Harry silently flicked his wand at the door, and the lock clicked open. The door swung inward just a bit with a soft creak. Harry saw the tip of a gloved hand push it open slowly. He raised his wand, ready to stun whoever walked in. The hand was followed by a shadowy silhouette. It was tall, broad-shouldered, and definitely male. The silhouette paused, then pulled out a gun fitted with a suppressor.
In quick succession, Harry hit the shadowy figure with Disarming and Summoning Charms. The gun popped out of his hand as his body was jerked into the room. A Stunner slammed into his chest, and his body skidded across the old carpet. The second intruder burst in.
Harry fired a silent Disarming Charm at the gun, sending it flying from the intruder's grip. There was a muffled curse in Russian. Natasha dropped low and swept the man's legs out from under him. There was a heavy thud as the man crashed to the floor. Harry used the opportunity to stun the intruder, knocking him out cold as he lay on the stained carpet.
The third appeared in the doorway, his gun pointed into the room. Harry swished his wand, and his body was violently thrown backward. His back slammed into the thick concrete hallway wall with a brutal thunk. The man let out a pained grunt as he fell face-first onto the hallway floor. Harry hit him with a quick Stunner to keep him down. "That's all of them … for now, at least," Harry quietly stated.
Natasha reappeared next to Harry. He flicked his wand at her, and her skin shimmered back into view. She let out a sigh of relief and immediately got to work. She pressed the muzzle of her pistol to the man's temple and patted him down for other weapons.
Harry secured the door, then flicked on the lights. The man in the hallway looked like a mid-level thug. He had on a black leather jacket, bad tattoos, and a gold chain with a cheap Orthodox cross. There was a small puddle of blood under the back of his head. Harry figured he must have smacked his head on the wall pretty hard. Harry used his wand to levitate the body into the room. Before closing the door, Harry used his magic to clean the blood from the hallway floor.
Harry knelt beside the unconscious attackers and checked them out. "Do you know who these guys are?" he asked as Natasha rifled through their pockets with swift and practiced hands. She tossed aside a cheap Russian passport and scoffed. "They're probably FSB henchmen. I doubt they're actual agents themselves," she muttered, yanking a burner phone out of one man's jacket. She clicked the screen on, considered it, then pocketed it. She glanced at Harry. "No one this sloppy gets to carry a badge."
"So, I'm guessing it's time to get the hell out of here?" Harry asked, gathering all the henchmen's stuff and tossing it in Natasha's bag.
"Definitely," Natasha said, checking the hallway through the peephole. She turned back and began stripping the attackers of anything useful. She took two full pistol magazines, a folding knife, and a battered lighter. She stuffed them into her pocket.
Harry pointed his wand at Natasha's black duffel bag. It shrank to the size of a matchbox, and he slipped it into his pocket.
"Shoes on," Natasha said, sliding her feet into a pair of boots. "We can't risk staying any longer than necessary. If they have friends, they'll be here in minutes."
Harry hopped into his shoes. "Do we go out the front?" he asked, glancing at the unconscious bodies.
Natasha shook her head. "There's probably a tail on the entrance. We need to vanish." She nodded at him to get moving.
Harry waved her over to him. Once she was at his side, he flicked his wand, and both of them shimmered into invisibility. He grabbed Natasha's invisible arm and apparated her away. They appeared outside, close to their parked car. It was dark and chilly, and their breath fogged, giving away their position.
Harry started for the passenger side, but Natasha grabbed his arm and yanked him to a stop. "No car," she whispered into his ear, still invisible. "It could be compromised. We go on foot." She took his hand and led him toward the back alley.
They ran behind the hotel, down a narrow passage filled with dumpsters and broken glass. Natasha led confidently, barely making a sound. Harry kept pace, trusting her sense of direction. They crossed the alley and emerged onto a side street.
They kept moving, zigzagging through side streets and ducking behind parked trucks whenever they heard voices or footsteps. After several blocks, Natasha finally let go of Harry's hand and whispered, "Drop the charm."
He flicked his wand, and they reappeared instantly. Natasha put her back to the wall, pulled out the burner phone, and started pressing buttons. She dialed a number, waited, then spoke in rapid-fire Russian. Harry didn't understand a word of what she was saying. She snapped the phone shut and tossed it into a nearby storm drain.
"We have about an hour before they lock down the city," she said, brushing her hair out of her face. "We need to make it twelve blocks east, and we can't take the main roads. Can you keep up?" she asked, giving him a wry look.
Harry nodded. "I can keep up. But will you tell me what's waiting for us there?"
Natasha smiled. "Not until we get there. Hurry up." She checked her gun, slipped it into her waistband, and took off down the sidewalk at a brisk jog.
Harry followed as the adrenaline faded and the exhaustion came back. They cut through courtyards, down empty tram lines, and once through the lobby of a shuttered movie theater. Natasha took the route with absolute certainty, and Harry wondered if she had worked this city before. She ignored traffic lights and never paused at corners, only slowing to peer around them before darting across.
At one point, Harry thought he saw a black van creeping the wrong way down a one-way street. Natasha saw it too and pulled Harry into a side alley, pressing him flat against a damp brick wall. She counted out thirty seconds, then peered around the corner. The van was gone, but she wouldn't let them move for a full minute more. Only when she was satisfied did they resume.
They finally paused at the edge of a deserted playground. Natasha leaned against an old chain link fence to catch her breath. Harry kept watch, scanning the street for any sign of pursuit. There was none, but he could feel the city tightening around them. This whole spy thing was quite exciting, Harry thought. Of course, there wasn't any real chance of them being trapped. If all else failed, he could just apparate them both away. But doing it the old-fashioned way was a new experience for him, and he kind of enjoyed it.
Once she had caught her breath, Natasha straightened up and pointed at a low building across the street. "There," she said. "That's our way out."
Harry looked at the windowless concrete walls that were spray-painted with graffiti. "What is it?" he asked.
"It's an abandoned bank. It has a tunnel that leads to the edge of the city," Natasha said.
Harry grinned, despite the fatigue. "Of course it does."
"An old friend of mine will leave a car near the tunnel's exit, so let's get going," Natasha said and motioned for him to follow. They sprinted the last block, crossed the street, and ducked out of sight as the first police cruiser rolled by with its lights and siren blaring.
Metal and Magic
The stink of mildew and stagnant air hit Harry's nose as soon as Natasha popped the rear service door. The interior had been stripped years ago, leaving only bare concrete and graffiti. Every step echoed loudly. Beer cans, broken bottles, and the shredded guts of old mattresses littered the floor.
They moved deeper. The building was mostly dark, except for a faint stripe of streetlight where a gap had opened in a boarded window above. As Harry adjusted to the gloom, he saw the shapes of a handful of people huddled together in the corner of an old lobby. One man lifted his head and squinted at Natasha's outline. He grunted, then rolled over, tugging his sleeping bag tighter. An older woman muttered something and reached for a liquor bottle beside her. Natasha didn't break stride as she passed them, but Harry slowed and palmed his wand just in case.
A young guy, maybe in his twenties, moved to block their path. His hair was spikey, and his face was covered in tattoos. He jabbed a finger at them and barked a slurred warning. "You can't come back here, it's private," he said in Russian. Harry didn't understand any of it, but regardless, he got the message. Natasha ignored him, but the man lunged, swinging a bottle. Before Harry even thought about it, he hit the tattooed man with a Disarming Charm. The bottle clattered across the floor. Harry followed with a quick, weak Stunner to the chest that sent the man sprawling backward onto the cold concrete.
"Idiot," Natasha muttered, stepping over the collapsed man. Harry snickered and followed, careful not to trip on the body or the broken glass underfoot.
They ducked into a side corridor. The walls here stank worse, with a mixture of rot and urine. There were more bodies. They all appeared to be living, but Harry couldn't be sure. He didn't look too close. Natasha led the way, weaving between the rubble with practiced ease, as if she already knew the layout. Harry guessed she probably did. He kept his wand up and made sure nothing followed them.
After a flight of stairs, they reached a reinforced steel door that was covered in rust. Natasha grabbed the locking wheel and tried to twist it, but it wouldn't budge. The damn thing was seized from the rust. She took a step back and jerked her chin at Harry. "Do you want to do the honors?"
"It would be my pleasure," Harry said and pointed his wand at the lock. He tried Alohomora first, and nothing happened. He tried again, pushing more energy through the wand. This time, the lock mechanism snapped with a sharp metallic pop, and the heavy door groaned open on reluctant hinges. A piece of the door fell off and landed with a clang, making both of them flinch.
Beyond was a dark staircase heading down into a basement. The air that rushed out was freezing and thick with dust, and Harry was hit with a sudden memory of going down into the bowels of Hogwarts as he searched for the Chamber of Secrets. Natasha coughed and covered her nose with her sleeve. "Why do I always end up in filthy, smelly basements?" she muttered.
"You're just lucky, I guess," Harry snorted. Natasha rolled her eyes and took the lead.
They descended the staircase, and with every step, the temperature dropped, and the darkness thickened. Harry flicked his wand and ignited the tip. Blinding light filled the entire stairwell. The staircase ended in a concrete vault chamber that was empty except for a few bent shelving racks and a steel grate set into the floor. Natasha knelt and grabbed the grate. She wrestled it back and forth before it finally gave way. She set the rusty grate on the floor next to the hole.
Harry peered down and saw a rusted ladder leading into complete darkness. He could hear the faint trickle of water below, and behind that a kind of low, constant rumble that might have been the city's sewer lines or a highway. Natasha nodded at him to go first.
Harry hesitated for a moment. He wasn't scared of heights, but the first rung looked like it would snap if he so much as breathed on it. He gripped the floor and slipped his legs into the hole. Harry felt the metal bend slightly under his weight. The descent was awkward, and by the time he landed, he was covered in flakes of rust. He raised his wand. The tunnel was about five feet wide and maybe eight feet tall. It was lined in crumbling concrete. The bottom half was flooded with shin-deep sludgey water.
Above, Natasha slid the grate closed, and he heard her boots clanging on the ladder. She dropped down beside him and splashed the disgusting water on his arm. "Nice," she said, looking around. "Let's hope we don't run into anything alive down here."
They started forward, sloshing through the cold water, and Harry tried not to think about what it might contain. After about thirty meters, the tunnel twisted left and dropped a few feet, making Harry stumble and splash. The ceiling dripped steadily, and the whole place smelled like mildew.
They carried on for what felt like hours. Eventually, they found marks on the tunnel walls. He saw chalk lines, little arrows, and once, a spray-painted circle with a slash through it. Harry guessed these were signs left by other people who'd used the passage, maybe smugglers or thieves. Natasha paid close attention to the symbols and picked up the pace whenever she saw a new one.
At one point, they had to duck under a rusted-out service pipe that had collapsed across the tunnel. Natasha braced her hands against the wall and hopped over, clearing the obstruction with ease. Harry was less graceful. He tried to swing over with one hand and lost his balance, landing knee-deep in a brackish puddle that soaked him up to the waist. Natasha laughed and offered a hand.
There were side corridors now. Some were blocked with debris, and others were so narrow that Harry could barely fit his head inside. They ignored these and pressed on. The water got deeper and came up to Harry's knees now, and his legs were numb from the cold. "This is disgusting," Harry groaned, feeling his foot brush something slimy.
Natasha's voice echoed off the tunnel walls. "Can't you, I don't know, dry the water up or something?"
"Nope. There's too much of it," he replied, bursting her bubble.
She sighed and pushed onward, leading him around a large bend. In the distance, Harry noticed the tunnel floor sloped upward, and there was a faint gray glow from ahead. That was good, Harry thought. Maybe they were close to the exit.
They waded up the incline, and the waterline slipped down to their ankles. The tunnel opened up into a round junction chamber, and here the ceiling arched high. There were three more tunnels branching off, each marked. Above them, a steel catwalk hung from chains. Natasha grabbed the first rung of the catwalk ladder and shimmied up. She hauled herself over the rail and reached a hand down to Harry. Harry smirked and transformed into his raven form. He flew up and landed on Natasha's shoulder. He gently nipped her ear, making her giggle. Harry flew off and transformed next to her.
From up here, the view was different. Harry could see the tangled maze of pipes running in every direction, and the old electrical boxes long since dead. There was a ladder bolted to the wall that led to a small maintenance hatch at the very top of the chamber.
"This is our way out?" Harry asked, ready to get out of this mess.
Natasha wiped her hands on her pants and nodded. "If I remember correctly, we should come out behind an abandoned service station."
Harry looked at the maintenance hatch at the end of the rickety ladder. "Ladies first," he said.
She grinned and started climbing. When she reached the hatch, she forced it open with her shoulder. Daylight hit their eyes. The sky was gray, cloudy, and overcast. Natasha slipped through, and Harry followed, pushing himself up onto the muddy ground above.
They emerged behind a small, crumbling concrete building that was surrounded by knee-high grass. Harry breathed in the fresh air, then looked back at the hatch. "That was better than I feared, but worse than I hoped," he said.
Natasha laughed and smacked his arm. "You survived. So, stop complaining," she said. "Now let's get out of sight before anyone notices us. There should be an old, dark blue car around here somewhere."
Harry nodded and followed her, and together they scurried away from the bank, dripping and filthy but alive and free.
Metal and Magic
Nick Fury sat in the battered swivel chair that had been standard-issue before SHIELD had upgraded to a more ergonomic model. He'd never bothered switching. He didn't care for that fancy new stuff. The left arm creaked as he leaned his weight into it and pressed two fingers against his temple, willing away the stress headache that had been building for hours. His vision was full of tiny spots from staring at glowing screens for most of the night. He'd gotten three hours of sleep, and the bitter coffee in his mug was cold.
The Black Widow's report had come just after nightfall. The report had been sent over the encrypted phone she carried, which told him how badly the operation had gone. The safehouse in Pavlodar had been compromised. According to the Widow, she'd been able to escape the city by crawling out through the sewer main. Fury had read the summary twice and then closed the file.
The Russians had found out about the safehouse. That was obvious, but none of it made sense. Pavlodar was supposed to be a redundancy. It was a last-resort fallback for agents with nowhere else to hide. Only a handful of people, besides Fury himself, knew the address. All of them were supposed to be ironclad. He'd run the background checks himself before delegating anything. So either the Russians had a mole in SHIELD, or there was someone higher up the food chain who was selling out their country. Fury didn't like either option.
Fury's eye drifted to the chipped mug on the desk. He reached for it, dumped the remaining cold coffee into the rubbish bin, and poured himself a slug of whiskey instead. He sipped it and let his mind run through what he knew to be true. Natasha was safe, but angry. Her handler was probably already compromised. The locals were on alert, so any planned missions in the region would have to be scrubbed. And somewhere, the person who'd blown the safehouse was sitting back, waiting for the next mistake. He hated being played.
Fury stood up and paced the length of his office. He ran a hand over his scalp and considered the options. The logical move was to pull back, do a full sweep, and let things cool. That was what any reasonable intelligence chief would do. Fury hated being reasonable. Reasonable got agents killed.
Instead, he decided to make some noise. He'd start by interrogating his own people, one by one, until he found the leak or forced the traitor to make a mistake. Fury thumbed his comm and sent a coded message to his senior staff summoning them to the war room. He added an extra line at the end. Emergency Priority. No excuses.
He slid his whiskey bottle back into his desk drawer. The headache was still there, but he felt a little more awake. There was a rat in his house, and it was making a fool of him. That was a very dangerous mistake. Nobody makes a fool of Nick Fury and gets away with it.
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