Qatar
The aircraft the White Wolf got on was a standard commercial liner that looked nothing like the ones the Wakandans used. It was white with an indiscernible airline logo which Bucky couldn't decide was real or fake. Two coloured stripes ran across the body of the plane in the most stereotypical way that commercial planes had. Bucky paused as a Dora approached him.
"So. New York it is," Ayo said as she came within earshot.
"Yes," Bucky answered without skipping a beat.
Ayo dipped her head, "Goodbye, White Wolf. Take care of yourself."
Bucky's lips twitched and he bopped his head as he walked past her, "You too, Ayo."
Bucky's supersoldier hearing could pick up the radio chatter in the cockpit as he climbed up the steps and into the airplane. The door closed behind him and he turned to peer at the cockpit. It was empty. He turned to the cabin and noted that the seats were an indeterminate blue and red. Walking towards him, in a pilot's getup, her hair expertly pulled into an aviator hat, was Nakia. She held herself proudly, and if one did not look too hard, one would miss the way her eyes appeared hollowed with grief.
"My deepest condolences, Nakia," Bucky said quietly.
She simply nodded at him and gestured to the cabin, "Pick a seat. We will lift off soon."
She walked past him and closed the cockpit's door behind her. Bucky chose the seat closest to the cockpit where his hearing could pick up the clicks and beeps of the flight panels. He could not hear the radio chatter anymore and assumed that Nakia had her headset on. He buckled in and stared out the window, slightly nervous. Shuri had given him Wakanda's intelligence database, an upgraded vibranium arm with camotech, no gear and no backup. On missions with Sam, Bucky at least got to pick some guns. Sam and Torres would show him the weapons cache and present him with some options. A voice nagged at the back of his head, wondering if he still felt security and control in weapons. He tried to shake the thought out of his head, but even the whirr of the plane's engines could not quiet the voice. So he pulled out Steve's red book and jotted a note for his next session with Dr. Raynor.
Bucky felt himself pressed against the seat as the plane took off, and a wandering thought passed his mind as he remembered that Wakandan aircrafts were so technologically advanced, the cabins were basically insulated from the g-force of take offs and touchdowns. Once the plane had leveled off to an acceptable altitude and the seatbelt lights went out, Bucky unfolded himself from the seat and knocked on the cockpit's door.
"Come in," Nakia called.
Bucky let himself in and gave himself a second to gaze out the windows. It was a clear day and there were few clouds in the sky. The blue of the horizon stretched endlessly on and the cockpit was bathed in sunlight. The plane was on autopilot mode and Nakia casually gripped the yoke.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Nakia said.
Bucky dropped into the co-pilot's seat and pulled on the headset. "We don't have to talk," he said gently.
Nakia turned to him. Behind her shades, she could see her smile in gratitude. They flew in silence for a while, simply gazing out into the endless blue, both wrapped in their own thoughts.
"I loved him," Nakia whispered, breaking the silence.
Bucky reached across and took her hand. She squeezed his gently and he could feel the firmness in her fingers, the firmness of a fighter and a leader and a spy, the firmness of a woman who was so self-assured that even the late king of Wakanda could not win her hand in marriage.
"As did I," Bucky replied.
"Did you really?" She turned to him now, curious.
"In my own way," Bucky said offhandedly. "He saved my life."
"Tell me something, Sergeant Barnes-" she started.
"Bucky."
"Alright. Tell me something, Bucky," she continued, "What do you fight for?"
Bucky turned the question over in his mind. Dr. Raynor had asked him the same question. So had Sam and Sarah Wilson and Mr. Nakajima, his neighbour in Brooklyn. His answer changed depending on who asked, depending on where he stood at that time, depending on how he understood the situation. But now, in the air, crossing borders and belonging nowhere, the answer was harder to come by.
"What do you fight for?" Bucky asked.
Nakia sighed and turned back to the horizon, "My country. My people. Our legacy and traditions. Our shared history and happiness. Our future and potential. Everything that Wakanda can be and should be."
Bucky clicked his tongue.
"You don't believe it?" Nakia asked.
"No," he said, shaking his head. "Many people say the same thing and go down the wrong path. Hitler. HYDRA. Every supremacist in the history of humankind. I fight against them. Against the fear and the knowledge that I didn't do enough to stop them."
Nakia gazed at him through her pilot's shades, "You almost sound like Steve Rogers."
Bucky shrugged, "You can take two idiots out of the forties but you sure as hell can't take the stupid out of them. That's how we're destined to die."
Nakia chuckled, "I don't think Steve Rogers can die an idiot's death."
"You wait 'til he gets bored of retirement."
An hour out of Qatar, Nakia held out her palm to reveal a holographic satellite view of the city, "I have to return to Wakanda before anyone misses me. I leave as soon as the plane is refueled. It is a five hour flight. You call for extraction and I will show up. Your kimoyo beads have a direct line to mine and Shuri's. Just say the word and we'll hear you loud and clear."
Nakia began landing procedures, making spirals in the air, waiting for air traffic control to give them clearance to land. From the plane, Qatar looked like a desert with uneven and strangely shaped outcroppings. As they orbited the international airport, skyscrapers came clearer into view and the iconic circular marina of the Pearl-Qatar stood out, a stark contrast against the otherwise flat-ish desert. For all that the Snap had obliterated half the world's population, the ambitions of the Pearl-Qatar continued on, unimpressed and unfazed.
"Just when you thought the rich couldn't get richer," Bucky murmured.
"Don't get ahead of yourself. We're not landing there," Nakia replied. "Get dressed. There's a set of clothes for you at the back of the cabin."
Bucky did as Nakia said and found a well-tailored three-piece suit along with a pair of polished brown Brogues. There was also a suitcase with a fake passport and international currency, and a luggage bag with an assortment of spy gadgets and clothes that Bucky understood as disguises that would help him blend in. It was not much but it was a start.
Bucky took the passport and flipped it open. The I.D. said he was Robert Williams. He scoffed at the most generic white man name he'd ever seen.
When the plane had landed and cruised to a stop at its designated gate, Nakia reappeared from the cockpit.
"Everything Wakanda is able to offer you, you already have on you," she said. Then, she pushed a button by the door and it whirred open. "Bast be with you, White Wolf."
Bucky nodded at her, took his suitcases, put on the air of a self-obsessed American businessman and made his way through the terminal. No one batted an eye at him. He was one of thousands of businessmen that thronged Qatar's international airport. He went through immigration without a hitch. Then he slipped into a restroom and quickly changed out of the suit and shoes, replacing the businessman persona with a polo shirt, tan army cargos, and the ugliest pair of loafers to walk the planet. He blended into the crowd of tourists, careful to make sure he was not noticed, then he hailed a taxi that sent him to a nondescript hotel. Part one was easy.
/
Wakandan intelligence said that the smuggled vibranium was hiding somewhere in the Souq Waqif, the busiest, most colourful market frequented by tourists and locals alike. Bucky had seen the recon photos and had a good idea of the layout of the market. But he underestimated the throng of people and the heat of the day. It was noisy with chatter and bargaining, laughter and persuasion. The colours of spices, Persian lamps, rugs and fabric dominated the eye, hanging haphazardly in front of shops, draped over every discernible space there was. Bucky quickly found himself lost. He could still guess where he was but it was difficult to keep track of the shops. He grudgingly acknowledged that it was a good strategy to hide the world's strongest metal in the busiest market.
Maybe it was luck that allowed Bucky to spot two men in long white shirts and red-and-black head coverings acting suspicious. They stood separated by an aisle of crockery for the longest time, browsing the same aisle over and over and making no move to purchase. The shop owner was in no hurry to move them along. He pulled out his phone and feigned a selfie, taking discreet photos of the shop and the two men, then immediately running facial recognition through Wakanda's database. Man number one was a known fence, responsible for selling stolen goods to the highest bidder. Man number two was a mercenary known as the Viper of Baghdad who pledged allegiance to no one but himself.
Bucky watched a third person strategically place himself at the same crockery aisle but Bucky could not get a glimpse of the person's face. A throng of people began to squeeze around them, and then the three men began to move. Bucky darted his eyes through the crowd, certain that he could see hints of a briefcase being passed from hand to hand. But many Qatari wore the same sort of dress and he quickly lost sight of the briefcase.
Fuck, Bucky swore.
He turned and noticed the fence pass through the exit of the Souq. Bucky sped up, taking a sharp left and ducking into an alcove just as the fence looked over his shoulder. Bucky gave the fence three seconds before he resumed stalker mode. The fence led him through crowded tourist streets and Bucky's heart raced when he realised they were headed for the metro. The fence glanced at the blinking signs in the metro and broke into a jog, just as Bucky's supersoldier senses picked up the rumble of train tracks and the sound of metal wheels screeching to a halt.
The fence cleared a flight of stairs. From the distance, Bucky could see passengers squeezing through the train's doors. Bucky broke into a run, heard the beeps of the door closing, stretched out his vibranium arm, grabbed the fence by the back of his neck, and leaped onto the roof of the train like a cat. The train rolled out of the station.
Bucky pressed the fence's face into the roof of the train, vibranium fingers squeezing the man's windpipe, and the weight of a supersoldier against the man's back.
"Don't move," Bucky warned in a Russian accent. "Answer my questions and maybe you will live."
The fence made a choking sound which Bucky couldn't decide was agreement or disdain.
“Where’s the vibranium?” Bucky asked sternly.
"Ayreh feek," the fence snarled.
Bucky closed his fingers around the fence's neck and gave him a shake.
“Where’s the vibranium? I won’t ask again,” Bucky hissed.
"Gone!” the fence gasped. “It's going to Damascus.”
Shit.
"Who’s the buyer? Give me a name."
The fence squirmed under Bucky's weight.
"No name," the fence struggled, clearly not a fighter, "He's called the Winter Soldier."
Bucky blanked out. There was a loud ringing in his ears and suddenly he was waking up in a cryo chamber surrounded by lab coats. A wheezing sound brought him back to the present and he realised belatedly that he'd squeezed too hard on the fence.
"When is the hand off?" Bucky asked, tone dangerous, but letting the man breathe.
"He said he would set the time and place."
There was light ahead as the next station drew closer. Bucky slammed his vibranium fist into the fence's head, knocking him out with a swift blow. He turned and ran silently against the train's motion, supersoldier speed propelling him into the darkness. Then he leapt onto a darkened maintenance platform and disappeared down a maintenance door, just as the wheels of the train screeched and pulled into the station.