Chapter 74
SHIELD Offices, Washington, D.C.
September 2011
“Got the number?” Natasha asked.
“Haven’t lost it since the last time you asked.” She couldn’t tell, through the earpiece, if Sam sounded annoyed, but based on his words it seemed likely.
“Just checking.”
“He’s coming,” Steve said. “Nat?”
“In position,” she said, readying her rifle. The laser sight was entirely unnecessary, but it would allow her to intimidate Sitwell.
Next to her, Zima shifted. “We should be down there,” he said quietly.
Natasha muted her earpiece. “Sitwell can’t know we’re working with Steve.”
Zima frowned, but said nothing else.
Natasha returned to watching the steps through her scope.
The doors opened, and there was Sitwell, bald as a cue ball. If a cue ball could make that smug, complacent face.
“Turning on the mike,” Steve said.
A second later, his directional microphone clicked on and the other man’s voice crackled through the earpieces.
“...she’s killing my back. Look, this isn’t the place to talk about it.” The older man reached out and touched Sitwell’s lapel. “That’s a nice pin.”
What ?
“Thank you,” Sitwell said.
Natasha lifted her scope and focused on their faces.
“Come here,” the older man said. He and Sitwell embraced. Natasha thought she saw the older man’s lips move by Sitwell’s ear. Indecipherable crackling came through her earpiece.
“What was that? Comms didn’t pick it up,” Sam said.
Steve’s voice was grim. “He said ‘Hail Hydra.’”
“So it’s real,” Natasha said. Anger and bitterness clouded her vision for a second before she reeled herself back in.
“Guess so,” Sam said grimly.
They watched Sitwell’s new friend walk away.
“Dialing,” Sam said.
Natasha positioned her finger over the laser sight switch. This was the dangerous part, the part they had the least control over. An observant guard could ruin the whole game.
Sitwell glanced down at his phone. Thanks to Tony’s genius, he’d see a call from Pierce.
“I need a minute,” he told the three men guarding him. “Bring the car around.”
All three walked away.
“Idiot,” Zima muttered, and Natasha grinned.
“Yes, sir,” Sitwell said.
“Agent Sitwell, how was lunch?” Sam said. “I hear the crab cakes here are delicious.”
Sitwell stood up straight, tense. “Who is this?”
“The good-looking guy in the sunglasses, your ten o’clock,” Sam said from his spot at the cafe.
Sitwell turned the wrong way.
Natasha rolled her eyes.
“Your other ten o’clock,” Sam added, his scorn echoing through the line.
Sitwell turned again, eyes landing on the cafe seating. Sam raised a hand in a casual wave.
“What do you want?” Sitwell snapped.
“You’re gonna go around the corner, to your right. There’s a grey car, two spaces down. You and I are gonna take a ride.”
Sitwell smirked. “And why would I do that?”
Natasha flicked on the laser sight and centered it over his chest.
“Because that tie looks really expensive, and I’d hate to mess it up,” Sam said.
Sitwell looked down and swallowed.
“He’s having too much fun with this,” Zima muttered.
Natasha looked away from the road briefly. “Who? Sam?”
“Yeah,” Zima said.
“He’s just getting back in the game,” Natasha said. “And he knows enough to have a problem with Sitwell. Not surprising he’s enjoying taking Sitwell down.”
Zima glared at the gray car three spaces ahead, waiting for the light to change. Sam was sitting in the back with the cuffed Sitwell while Steve drove.
“Are you jealous?” Natasha asked.
Zima’s eyes cut to her for less than a second.
“You are,” she said. “Zima. Do you remember him?”
“Better,” he admitted. “I think… I remember being his best friend.”
“Oh, Zima,” she said softly, and reached over for his hand. Sadness briefly washed away her anger. He was her Zima, her Soldier, and she loved him, and she hated seeing him in this struggle. “I wish I could help.”
“You are,” Zima said.
She squeezed his hand. They lapsed into silence.
Natasha considered. She knew Zima. Knew how he thought, how he was dealing, what he’d be most worried about.
The struggle for identity. It was tearing him apart, and… and he’d probably be hesitant to talk to her about it, because Natasha knew she was the only person on the planet he trusted completely, and he’d be afraid that she would leave if he was someone else.
“You can be both Bucky and Zima,” she said. “People can choose what to do with what they are. I will love you either way.”
Zima’s head dipped a bit, and he nodded. “Thank you,” he said, almost too softly to hear.
[Classified Location]//Rooftop, Washington D.C.
September 2011
Steve shoved Sitwell out onto the roof and dragged him toward its edge.
“Tell me about Zola’s algorithm,” he demanded.
Sitwell staggered backward and landed against the low railing. “Never heard of it.”
“What were you doing on the Lemurian Star?”
“Throwing up,” Sitwell said, that smug look still on his face. “I get seasick.”
Steve shoved him back. Sitwell almost lost his balance.
“You’re not going to shove me off,” the SHIELD agent said with a smile. “It’s not your style.”
Steve shrugged. “I’m branching out,” he said, and shoved Sitwell off the roof.
Four seconds later, Sam burst back up over the edge carrying Sitwell by the leg, his wings spreading wide against the sun.
He tossed Sitwell into the gravel on the rooftop and came in for a perfectly smooth landing.
Steve advanced on him, squaring his shoulders and imagining that he was about to get in a fight.
It worked. Sitwell scrambled backwards, raised his hands. “Zola’s algorithm is a program… for choosing Insight’s targets!”
Sam jerked his elbows and the wings collapsed into his pack. He drew a pistol and twirled it around his fingers. “What targets?”
“You! A TV anchor in Cairo, the Undersecretary of Defense, a high school valedictorian in Iowa City. Bruce Banner, Stephen Strange, anyone who’s a threat to Hydra! Now, or in the future.”
Steve’s fists clenched. “In the future? How can it know?”
Sitwell laughed hysterically. Sweat gleamed on his bald head. “How could it not? This century is a digital book. Zola taught us how to read it. Bank records, medical histories, voting patterns, emails, phone calls, your damn SAT scores–Zola’s algorithm evaluates peoples’ pasts to predict their futures.”
Sam shot Steve a wide-eyed look. Steve knew how he felt. Horror. Shock.
“Then what?” he asked.
Sitwell opened his mouth. His eyes widened and he collapsed back. “Oh my God… Pierce is going to kill me.”
“What then?” Sam snapped, stepping forward.
Sitwell glared at him defiantly. “Then the Insight helicarriers scratch people off the list. A few million at a time.”
Steve and Sam shared a horrified look.
“Who’s involved in this besides Pierce?” Steve said. “Fury? Rumlow?”
“Rumlow’s working with Pierce,” Sitwell said. “I don’t know about Fury.”