A Different Call

3. His Mission

Curse the Widow for making an appearance in the middle of winter. Originating from Iowa, he was no stranger to the cold. However, that doesn't mean he preferred it, and Russia was an ice cube by comparison. The worst part was how the cold made his hands numb. Numbness was an inconvenience to the trigger finger or, in his case, the bow finger.

Agent Barton took a sip of his coffee. After flying the Quinjet for seven hours straight, he could feel the caffeine wake him up and heighten his senses. Black coffee was only a bonus. His real reason for being at the cafe was to stake out.

According to S.H.I.E.L.D. Intelligence, this was a frequent spot to find KGB agents. It was no wonder, any skilled assassin would notice the perfection of this location. There were no ATMs, meaning no security cameras. The occasional cop that would drive by or walk inside for a coffee and pastry were one level above mall cop; casual, relaxed, and carrying few lethal weapons. The cafe itself was located in a tourist area where anyone can blend in and the amount of witnesses kept some hostiles from trying anything... some.

Still, it was a long shot his target would be here considering he had no information on the Black Widow. For all he knew, she could have flown out of Moscow hours ago.

He had about forty minutes before he would raise suspicion.

Two-thirds into his coffee and with twenty-five minutes left to spare, something caught his sharp eye. It could be nothing or it could be something. The next ten minutes should decide that.

Through his tinted sunglasses, he spotted a slim, tall woman with red hair sit at a table across the patio and order something from the waitress. She seemed a bit too tall to be Natasha Romanoff until he noticed her heeled boots. Textbook spying considered heels impractical unless you were seducing a rich guy at his party, but one could pull off running in thick heeled boots if they were skilled enough. Clint had no doubt Romanoff was.

To complete her disguise, Romanoff wore a tan trench coat, which disguised her figure, the stereotypical yet effective spy accessory. Her loose red hair covered some of her face. She looked like she belonged, and that's why Clint noticed her.

Five minutes later, the waitress brought her a cup of what he assumed was coffee and a raspberry pastry. Five minutes after that, a man approached her table.

He looked just as inconspicuous as her and they greeted each other like friendly co-workers with a firm handshake. Romanoff's back was facing him, but he could see the man's face. When they both sat down, the smile vanished to a professional expression, void of emotion. He was older—maybe early forties—with salt-and-pepper hair.

They spoke under the noisy city atmosphere. He should have planted bugs. Even if he had, his Russian was elementary at best, which also made his ability to lip read useless.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the KGB agent slip her a piece of paper across the table surface. Romanoff unfolded it, glanced at it, then tucked it into her trench coat pocket.

With eight minutes left to spare, Clint decided he had seen enough. He pulled his S.H.E.I.L.D. encrypted smartphone out of his back pocket and pretended to read his emails as he snapped a photo of the Widow's contact. Facal-recognition may give him some useful intel later.

He finished off his now cold coffee in a single gulp. Tucking some money under his saucer with a tip, he stood and stretched. Adjusting his baseball cap lower over his eyes, Clint left the cafe with his hands in his coat pockets, walking in the opposite direction of his target.

He crossed the street and, after making sure no one was watching, entered an alleyway. He glanced around; empty. Rubbing his calloused hands together, Clint jumped and caught a water pipe, frozen to the touch. He pulled himself up, the toes of his boots scraping against the wall. He pushed off and gripped the metal fence of a fire escape. He hurriedly climbed the stairs, then jumped onto a windowsill. His foothold groaned under his weight. The curtains were drawn, but he didn't wait to find out if anyone was home to hear that. He pulled himself up and rolled onto the snow-blanketed roof.