Liberty Is Mine |2| The Liberty Saga

Chapter Two: The Widow and the Doctor

Moscow, Russia - 12 hours later

There could not have been a more startling juxtaposition than the sight of a beautiful woman chained to her chair in the centre of an abandoned old warehouse. Natalia Alianovna Romanova, with choppy, flame-red hair like a bleeding wound, with a little black dress that might as well have been bulletproof for the confidence with which she wore it. Her hands were bound with thick rope, her mouth dripping blood from where one of the thugs had backhanded her, and yet she was right where she intended to be.

In charge.

Of course, General Luchkov, whose men had so recently tried to beat the truth out of her, was not aware of this. He addressed her in Russian charmingly, as though he could convince her he was a gentleman. "This is not how I wanted the evening to go."

She rolled her neck, meeting his gaze with a sly smile. "I know how you wanted this evening to go. Believe me, this is better."

"Who are you working for?" he demanded. "Lermentov, yes? Does he think we have to go through him to move our cargo?"

Her brow furrowed slightly, deliberately. "I thought General Solohob was in charge of the export business?"

"Solohob?" Luchkov gave a hearty, dismissive laugh. "A bagman, a front. Your outdated information betrays you. The famous Black Widow..." He grabbed her chair, tilting it back over the edge of an elevator shaft. "And she turns out to be simply another pretty face."

Natasha gave him a small, coquettish smile. "You really think I'm pretty?"

"Tell Lermentov we don't need him to move the tanks," Luchkov ordered. "Tell him he is out..." Suddenly, he smiled cruelly. "Well, you may have to write it down."

Suddenly, a ringtone cut through the silence like a bullet. They all turned to see one of Luchkov's thugs pulling out his phone. He answered the call. "Да?" A few moments passed and his brow furrowed in confusion. He looked at his boss. "... It's for her."

Narrowing his eyes, Luchkov snatched the phone away from his underling, raising it to his ear. "You listen carefully—"

The calm, measured voice of Phil Coulson cut him off. "You're at 114 Solenski Plaza, third floor. We have an F22 exactly eight miles out. Put the woman on the phone or I'll blow up the block before you can make the lobby."

Luchkov's eyes widened, stunned. For a moment, he considered ignoring the threat. Who was this stranger to threaten him, anyway?

And then he met the gaze of Natasha Romanoff, who raised an eyebrow. Swallowing, Luchkov stepped forward, putting the phone to her ear for her. She held it there with her chin.

"We need you to come in," Coulson told her, without preamble.

"Are you kidding?" she demanded, in American-accented English. "I'm working!"

Coulson wasn't deterred. "This takes precedence."

Natasha scoffed. "I'm in the middle of an interrogation and this moron is giving me everything."

Above her, Luchkov blinked, sharing a look with his, for want of a better word, colleagues. "I don't... give everything."

She rolled her eyes at him and returned to the call. "Look, you can't pull me out of this right now."

"Natasha," Coulson said hesitantly. '... Barton's been compromised."

Immediately, her eyes narrowed, her expression turning to stone. "Let me put you on hold."

A moment later, her eyes flashed up to meet Luchkov's; she nodded to him. As he reached down to retrieve the phone from her shoulder, she drove her heel hard into his gut and slammed her head into his, sending him staggering back. She stood, still tied to the chair, and as the two thugs rushed her, she swept their feet out from underneath them.