Deadly Encounter
SHE HAD SPENT A MONTH PLANNING EVERY DETAIL, RESPONSIBLY ANALYSING NAMES, LOCATING STREETS ON MAPS, AND PLANNING AT LEAST THREE ESCAPE ROUTES. Ophelia struggled through nights of smoking and coffee to stay awake so that no setback could hinder her mission: to steal a sample of the Renaissance project and assassinate Abraham Erskine to prevent her rivals from creating an army of super soldiers.
And yet, it only took one weak link for her two-day Schnellzug EB912 train ride to the Hamburg docks and her nearly two-week submarine voyage to be thwarted by Heinz Kruger's carelessness.
The HYDRA spy had lived for two years across the Atlantic under the identity of Fred Clemson as a member of the United States State Department, following the trail of Abraham Erskine and investigating the progress of Project Rebirth, which was intended to mass-produce the serum for the Allies.
She had even called Franz from Norway to help her retreat, as she needed someone who could cover her back while they camouflaged themselves outside the Strategic Scientific Reserve facility in Brooklyn, which was housed as an antique shop.
"Wait to see the effects of the serum before shooting him," Ophelia had instructed him a week earlier in the Coney Island apartment she had secured, where they had been going over Plan A: Kruger would be present during the serum testing, wait to see the effects, and then shoot Erskine. Beyer was to cover for him so Kruger could board the car with fake plates that would be waiting for them, with Klein as the extraction driver, outside the shop.
Three people were needed for a simple, surprise plan, but if things got complicated, Ophelia would be at the shipyards to throw off any pursuers, either with dynamite as a distraction or a Thompson machine gun. She was destined to be the heavy cavalry. And as for Zemo, he would be Plan C: as a means of escape with the submarine parked a few blocks from where the Hungarian had left the Fieser Dorsch.
"Target 1, down! He's done! He's dead!" Kruger announced in an energetic radio shout, his breathing labored, while shouts, gunfire, and tires scraping the street from the speed they had gained in their escape could be heard in the background.
Ophelia's heart pounded, and she felt a tingling sensation rapidly coursing through every part of her body. She had quickly stood up, hiding behind a nearby wall of worn red brick. Even in her leather trench coat, she could feel the scraping of the black leather.
"Two shots?" she questioned under her breath, but through gritted teeth. She was eager for confirmation. Target 1 was Erskine, and the night before, she had told Kruger not to leave any room for a recovery; if he hit the scientist, he was to finish him off with a second shot.
"Ja, Madame, two shots!"
The green-haired woman barely smiled when she heard Kruger's radio confirmation. The echo of the engines and the faint howl of the wind enveloped her in the gloom of the shipyard, where shadows danced on the crates stacked around her. She closed her eyes for a moment and breathed deeply, savoring the salty air. Despite the distances and obstacles, the mission seemed under control... until a second later it wasn't.
"Scheiße!"
Her agent was cursing, and that ignited a spark of fury in Ophelia. She knew they were under attack, but she didn't know exactly what was happening, and even if she did, there wasn't much she could do. She needed Kruger to come closer.
"Kruger! What the hell is going on over there?"
"That bitch... She killed Klein! And Beyer's dead too!" he roared angrily.
"The serum, Kruger," his tone was urgent. "Did you get it? Kruger!" Ophelia demanded irritably, her hand getting closer to the right side where her pistol was.
"Ja!"
A yes was all Ophelia needed, and she got it, so she continued to grip the radio in her hand, listening to every movement, scream, and rampage that grew increasingly distant until a buzzing sound invaded the line with a popping sound in her ear. She knew she'd lost contact because the radio had broken. The spy threw the device to the ground and crushed it with the heel of her boot, shattering it into pieces. She threw the remains into the sea to prevent any recovery of her technology or clues linking her to HYDRA.
Then she took another radio out of her bag and turned it on to the correct frequency. Zemo's voice soon appeared.
"Things went wrong so quickly?" Far from her usual sarcasm, his tone was tinged with concern.
"Get the damn submarine ready," Ophelia hissed in a pointed tone, staring intently down the alley that ran through the main street to the covered walkway of the shipyard where she stood. The raided offices were a five-minute drive away, so at a faster speed, it had to be reduced to at least three.
"And what about Kruger and the rest?"
"Two dead. Erskine down, and the order comes with Kruger," she summarized, taking a deep breath, opening and closing her hands impatiently. She had placed the dynamite on either side of the entrance, ready to be detonated as soon as it ignited a spark, but without the serum in hand, Ophelia couldn't rule out her agent. "But I'll have to intervene as soon as I find him."
Zemo was trying to understand. "So it's not a complete disaster?"
"The idiot was being pursued, and I lost communication. I'm sure..." Her words choked in her throat when she saw the gray-suited figure with a Ludger in hand, so she hurried to grab the Zippo from the shadows. "There he is, Zemo, and he has company."
Kruger was carrying a red-haired boy in a plaid shirt, grabbing him by the collar as he roughly dragged him toward him despite his attempts to resist. Then he slowed his steps while seemingly aiming for the boy's head.
He's threatening someone, Ophelia realized.
"Do what you do best and hurry, Sarkissian," the archaeologist interrupted, and the more controlled drone returned to the line, so Ophelia immediately turned it off before putting it away. She took a deep breath and shrank into a crouch so she could peer into the space between the crates.
She expected to see at least half a dozen armed police officers or soldiers, but instead, only... a man appeared. Tall, fair-skinned, and with prominent muscles, he had short, dark blond hair that reminded her of straw. He wore a simple white shirt and yellowish pants. If he weren't barefoot, he could easily have passed for a nosy civilian. Perhaps the boy's father, but from the desperate way Kruger tried to shoot him, Ophelia sensed he was her pursuer. But was he? Had a barefoot man really put a trained agent in a difficult position?
Even Kruger was holding a hostage, and that seemed to be of greater importance to the blond man, as he screamed in anguish for him to stop when he threw the boy into the cold water. Ophelia narrowed her eyes, keeping herself well hidden, almost holding her breath so that not even Kruger could easily notice her. Which seemed to work, as she tried to scan the area, looking for her.
The green-haired woman heard the water bubbling, so she knew that was the signal that the Fieser Dorsch was being lowered and opened for boarding. The elongated, silver, cylindrical submersible vehicle only had one person on board, so technically, Ophelia was only supposed to ensure Kruger's escape, but contrary to the spy's plan to stall his American pursuer by rescuing the boy from the water, the blond was coming straight for him.
Ophelia considered intervening. It would be easy for her to shoot him in the chest. With that speed that seemed almost inhuman, she would undoubtedly pierce through him. And yet, the green-haired woman decided to save her bullets, thinking she was a backup plan, but Kruger shouldn't trust her to rescue him. These were some of the principles of a spy: Don't compromise the mission, be careful, and above all, don't leave any loose ends.
In an unexpected act that surprised Ophelia herself, the blond man jumped into the water even though the Fieser Dorsch had already submerged and was underwater. She peered in disbelief over the edge of the dock, trying to find some source of life, or at least a body, but instead, she gasped and opened her eyes wide when the first bubbles on the surface burst, spraying salt water into her face. Kruger was sent flying a few meters from her, slamming into the ground with a thud that took her breath away.
Kruger tried to attack the blond with his knife, but his attacker dodged it and with a single kick to the face, knocked him to the ground, breaking the serum bottle in half as it fell a few feet from Ophelia. The green-haired woman stared helplessly at the blue liquid on the ground, scattering small fluorescent lines like veins going out. She breathed deeply, jaw clenched, feeling that old urge to shoot anything so she could release some of her anger. In her teens, Schmidt claimed she was trigger-happy.
Sometimes she missed being that.
Rage bubbled beneath the surface, a fury so icy it seemed to calcify her thoughts. But there, deep down, something else throbbed—was it fear? The prospect of returning to the barracks empty-handed, with the Red Skull lurking, seemed more terrifying than anything else at that moment.
"...Don't you dare fail me, or the next time we meet, it won't be a pleasant conversation," the Red Skull had told her, and she had sworn not to fail him. Her foolish arrogance, speaking first, made her underestimate her opponents; she never expected a single man to foil her schemes.
Kruger managed to catch a glimpse of her, noticing the dark look and pursed lips that expressed nothing but a mixture of icy fury. It was a promise of repentance that made the man tremble, for disappointing the Red Skull's right-hand man was, in turn, an insult to his name, and Ophelia had the ultimate authority to do whatever she wanted with him. Death would be a show of mercy, which she surely wouldn't extend to him.
Ophelia wasn't someone who believed in second chances.
"Who the hell are you?" the blond man demanded, his voice enraged as he grabbed Kruger by the lapel of his jacket.
—The first of many. Cut off a head—Kruger bit down hard on the cyanide capsule between his dentures, rapidly releasing the poison. His suicide was an act of salvation he preferred before facing the consequences of his mistakes—and two more will replace it. Hail, HYDRA!
The blond man's face transformed from confusion to horror when he noticed the foam building up around the spy's mouth like a rabid dog. His expression deepened, his mouth ajar even when Kruger stopped moving. He stopped, unable to comprehend what had happened, for a moment before he had held a life in his hands, and now it was gone. He looked at his hands as if he could find bloodstains on them, desperately wanting to confirm that he hadn't caused its death, having failed to control his new abilities.
But while the super soldier was sinking into the crisis of his first death, Ophelia had already planned the second of the day.
The green-haired woman ran straight toward him, taking a running start and punching the blond in the chin, eliciting a groan of pain from the surprise. He blinked rapidly, trying to see where the blow had come from, but even his new reflexes couldn't catch the kick to the chest with which Ophelia pushed him back against the pillar behind him. The impact made a couple of fissures and caught the green-haired woman's attention, who narrowed her eyes, wondering... Was it him? Could this man be Erskine's latest experiment?
Kruger had shown her some photos of the test subject, claiming that the short, scrawny man named Steven Grant Rogers was the volunteer the German scientist had personally chosen. Ophelia hadn't considered it important at the time, but now... She wanted to know if the man was her newest pain to put down.
"So you were the dying soldier, weren't you, Rogers?" she crooned cynically, glancing quickly at the crowd gathered at either end, watching curiously from a safe distance.
"How do you know my name?" the blond man asked sternly in a low voice.
"Oh, believe me, darling, that doesn't matter anymore." She tried to punch him again, but this time he stopped her, yanking her wrist into a grip that felt like it was made of iron. Ophelia tried to push herself back, but it didn't work, so Steve took her other hand before twisting her around and slamming her back against the column where he'd been cornered.
Ophelia's breath faltered for a second before she inhaled deeply, her eyes closed. Her teeth ground together as her somber, blue orbs met the clarity of the American's tone, which had turned into raging tempests, every emotion vivid in his eyes impossible to hide. Ophelia enjoyed drinking in every feeling of frustration, disgust, and helplessness from him, seeing it as her own small revenge.
I would not be alone on the path of anguish.
"I've had enough of your tricks. Who the hell are you?" Steve demanded through gritted teeth, and Ophelia chuckled before plastering on a sly smile that baffled the blond. Certainly, the woman from head to toe was completely different from what he usually saw on the streets or at the military base: dark green boots with thick platforms—he was sure she'd meant to pierce his chest with them, and it was a miracle he wasn't bleeding—a full emerald green jumpsuit that fastened around the neck, but was sleeveless, and a silver belt accentuated her waist with an insignia of a tentacled skull. Green lips and hair with a sharp face. Her eyes were particularly intense with that black eyeliner.
She didn't seem like the other agents he'd faced. There was a lethal calm in her gaze that extended to her every previous movement, which deeply unsettled him.
"Your worst nightmare," she hissed before kissing him. The movement was swift, calculated, but not without intention. When her lips touched his, Ophelia felt the slight tremor of surprise in him. Steve pulled away, bewildered, his eyes staring at her in disbelief, but she didn't move. Instead, she had that cold glint in her eyes, patiently watching him begin to succumb to the effects of her trap between gasps.
Steve tried to take a breath, as he could feel his throat closing. The experience was uncomfortably familiar—it was the same coughing he gets when he has an asthma attack, but it wasn't just his throat; his whole body felt stiff. He fell to the floor with a thud as his body froze.
Ophelia walked past him and pulled out of her coat pockets one of the test tubes she usually carried to collect plant samples or load her poisons at the last minute, but this time she tried to take what remained of the super soldier serum in the two halves of its previous container. It was barely a quarter, but at least he hoped it might help Zola reassemble the original formula.
"Sweet dreams, soldier," Ophelia said as she left. The sirens of patrol cars could be heard, so the green-haired woman saw no better time than to light the dynamite.
The blast echoed like thunder, sending debris and sparks flying into the air. Flames licked at the walls of the shipyard as the crowd fled in terror, screaming and pushing each other in an attempt to escape. Steve felt the shockwave hit his motionless body, his mind caught in a whirlwind of distant sounds and bright colors, but with a female figure receding into what seemed like a mirage as she mingled with the crowd.
Ophelia had taken advantage of the chaos, thinking that the super soldier couldn't possibly be so efficient if he hadn't survived that hemlock lipstick. Perhaps Erskine had lost his touch, and the Red Skull was his finest creation.
However, that wasn't the end of him.
Still lying on the ground, Steve felt a tingling sensation run down his arm. With a titanic effort, his fingers moved slightly, an almost imperceptible gesture, but enough to ignite a spark in his mind: this wasn't over.
The dining car vibrated slightly with the rumble of the train traveling along the tracks on its way to the factory in Skopje, Macedonia. They had been traveling for two days in constant rain, and the city of Belgrade was barely visible through the fogged-up windows. Sitting at the table with her half-eaten meal, she obsessively watched her reflection in the small oval mirror. The intense green of her lipstick had remained there since her mission in New York. She had tried removing it with water and makeup remover, but it hadn't worked, only a tingling that made her pinch her lips until they bled.
"A little memory, Ophelia," she said to herself before putting the mirror away with a sigh of surrender. Zola had said it might be a side effect of the Viperase.
There's always a price to pay, she thought, moving the remaining slice of meatloaf. She'd been eating a whole one for the past few hours. Her mind revolved around that same axis: Schmidt hadn't been entirely satisfied with her performance in New York. The attack had made international news in such a way that she herself was captured in some photos as the prime suspect in the sabotage of Project Rebirth.
"Public enemy" was a pretty title now hanging next to her face. It was only a matter of time before she was linked to HYDRA, and Schmidt knew it, so with the declaration of an open front to the world, he wanted to have his arsenal already in the hands of his troops to counterattack and gain ground. Hence his next visit to each of the factories in Europe.
The cabin door opened abruptly, tearing her from her thoughts.
Johann Schmidt entered like a contained storm. His expression was stony, although his quick movements betrayed his irritation. He carried a newspaper under his arm, folded and clenched in his fist, and his jaw clenched with each step he took toward her. With a dismissive gesture, he slammed it down on the table with such force that it splattered the lemon juice that now stained the white tablecloth.
"Good afternoon, Ophelia," he greeted with a forced friendliness that only accentuated the ice in his tone, making her gulp as she slowly stood up. "Perhaps you can enlighten me. Please remind me, what exactly did you do to Erskine's experiment?"
Ophelia instantly straightened her back, feeling the weight of his authority like a noose tightening around her neck. She tried to maintain her composure, but the familiar chill Schmidt always gave her managed to break through.
"I told him I killed him," she replied firmly, though her voice trembled barely perceptibly.
Schmidt raised an eyebrow and, without bothering to look at the newspaper, simply pushed it toward her with a finger.
"Oh, really?" he replied, almost whispering, with poisonous cynicism. "Then please enlighten me, my dear, because I'm sure this French headline must be an illusion. Is it?" He gestured with controlled theatricality toward the front page, where a grinning image of Steve Rogers in his glittering Star-Spangled Banner costume, mask, and shield posed surrounded by dancing girls in short dresses.
Ophelia looked at the newspaper, and her stomach tightened into a knot, just as if she'd been punched, only it was her pride that had been wounded. The Red Skull had caught her before she knew she had to defend herself. There was no escape.
"I thought the poison had worked, Herr Schmidt..." He swallowed, his jaw clenched. "I... I saw no indication that he had survived." "Hemlock is deadly," he stammered, trying to explain, but Red Skull was already pacing around the table, his hands behind his back in a gesture of unwavering authority.
"I thought," "I didn't see," he repeated, his voice pitching into a poor form of imitation that was thick with sarcasm as he tilted his head. "Funny how someone with as much... impeccable experience as you still relies on things like guesswork. Sure, yes, we'd say it was 'efficient.' You did get the sample back, after all," he added with a grimace mimicking a smile, "but tell me, at what point did you decide that not testing would be acceptable?"
The words struck Ophelia like a hammer blow. She knew she'd failed at something essential, but her pride wouldn't let her back down. Her fingers tightened on the edge of the table, though she kept her gaze lowered.
"I'll figure it out," she said, her tone less confident than she'd intended.
The German leaned toward her, his face invading the green-haired woman's personal space, and she froze as if he'd drained the air from the cabin.
"'You'll figure it out'? How ambitious. I love your determination, Ophelia, although, frankly, you would have done everyone a favor by solving it in New York." His tone was cuttingly gentle, like a sharp blade caressing skin. "However, of course, I'm not one to demand perfection, am I?"
His slow, reproachful voice seemed to design a cage around her. Ophelia licked her lips, the metallic taste of her bleeding lips beginning to seep into her tongue from how tightly she'd bitten them to avoid any show of fear, though she doubted he hadn't noticed.
It was like a hunting dog scenting him.
"I won't fail you again, I promise," she whispered, but her tone held a pleading edge she hated to hear coming from her own lips.
Schmidt straightened again, his shadow receding from her as he meticulously smoothed back her hair, an almost theatrical gesture.
"I hope so," he replied calmly, but his gaze was lethal. He gestured to the newspaper one last time before turning toward the door, "because if this is the best you can do, then maybe I've overestimated your usefulness. And neither you nor I want him to come to that conclusion, do we?"
He didn't wait for a reply. He left the cabin, leaving Ophelia alone with the echo of his footsteps and the noise of the train, which seemed to have intensified, filling the silence. She slumped in her chair, staring at the newspaper, at the grinning face of Steve Rogers, seemingly mocking her, a reminder of her mistake. A flash of rage crossed her mind, but it was fleeting. What remained was the crushing feeling of guilt, the same one Schmidt always knew how to feed. Schmidt's every word continued to echo in her mind, like a cruel mantra.
You failed. You failed. You failed.
She brought a hand to her face, her nails pressing against her skin as if she could erase the weight of expectations imposed on her since she joined HYDRA.
I won't fail again, she thought with a trembling in her chest. But in the back of her mind, she knew her mistake wouldn't be forgotten so easily; she would have to work hard to get back into her leader's good graces.