Different Call (Clintasha)

Chpt. 4 - Departure

Clint

Sure enough, as promised, the private jet was waiting for me, purring on the flight line, warm and anxious to fly. It was nearly 2am here but apparently time zones screwed with my hours and it would be around the exact same time when I arrived in Tuapse, Russia. It was a village off the coast of the Black Sea and how fitting a "Black Widow" would be drawn to her kin.

When I arrived, Agent Hill greeted me and made herself comfortable across from me for the duration of the trip. From her endless speeches about the security of SHIELD and my wellbeing, to ensuring that I understood the functions and tricks to every gadget they gave me, there was barely a moment of peace on the long flight. I tried to listen, I really did. Unfortunately I've never been the best to teach. I tend to let myself learn by experience which gets me in and out of trouble in turn. So when I say that I tried to listen it is a legitimate statement. Despite my efforts, after the first hour packing my brain full of information I already knew, I found the words washing over me as I stared absentmindedly into the distance. Finally after a 10 hour flight of talking, the most I got out of it was that we had a shitload of weapons and virtually no intel. Although I've never been praised for my intellect, it's sometimes nice for people to underestimate you; always leave them pleasantly surprised at the end of things. So when Hill looked at me surprised when I asked about the Black Widow's relatives, I could immediately tell she wasn't anticipating me psychoanalysing my targets.

In the spy business information is the most valuable weapon. You can have all the guns in the world but if you don't know where to point them, what's the point? This is my problem. We have such limited information I'm pretty much going in blind.

The plane landed 500m as they had previously promised and I said my final farewells to Agent Hill and the pilot before zipping up my parka and grabbing my now stuffed full dufflebag.

I made my way into town on alert, an automatic hand gun in the front pocket of my jacket. I didn't trust this place and I didn't trust the people. Automatically the lodge where the conference would be taking place stood out with its ornate brickwork, but deciding to lay low I headed quickly to the less impressive and more humble wooden lodge.

"Room for one." I said in a very noticeably american accent which spiked the man behind the counter's interest.

"Tourist, you are?" The man asked in a very strong and broken accent. I nodded deciding that the alias was good enough and took the key from his hand, giving him the exact amount of change I owed. I shoved it in my pocket and slowly turned, closing my eyes and yawning, exhausted from the flight. I shuffled through the now empty room and sat on a couch in front of the warm fire. I rested my head on my hand and stared lazily into the crackling flames.