Cranberry syrup or the mission in Russia! - Part 2

Just look at her. I've seen them in the old world. Only they weren't girls, they were men. No, not like that, MEN, with heaviness in every letter. In every situation, in every word, looking for a catch, to see if it hides a mockery, an insult, if someone has encroached on their mighty cast-iron dignity, which they sternly carry outwardly relaxed.

"Okay," I smirk defiantly in response, "next time I'll leave you to die under bullets."

Larissa is clearly eager to say something else, but Natasha's eloquent look makes her swallow her rage.

"If you still have the strength to bicker, you'd better get busy," she interrupts the argument.

"Where were they going, I wonder?" Not paying attention to us, Daria looks into the interior of the car, "Boss, there's something interesting here!" she yells after a few moments.

"What?"

"It looks like they were preparing a group of spies, there are passports, credit cards, cash and other things, in general, the standard set... for five people."

"Nothing new or unusual," Larissa shrugged.

"Really?" Waving the passports in his hand, objected Daria, "you think Karpova personally went to some backwoods right after the flight for a couple of ordinary spies?"

"It doesn't smell ordinary," Natasha agrees.

"It does not matter, we have a clear goal, we have accomplished it, we need to follow the plan," Larissa does not concede, "besides, I do not want to spend a single extra second in this country."

Hoping to learn something new, Natasha conducts a quick, though ineffective, interrogation of Vasilisa, who wakes up from the noise. Nothing but "fuck you" and "Heil Hydra" from the prisoner can be obtained.

I hear the muffled hum of the engines of the Quinjet, and it is time to make a decision. But then something unexpected happens.

"No, no, please don't, don't kill me, I'll tell you everything!" The girl who was the colonel's driver burst out screaming, "I'll tell you everything I know, please."

It was Daria who decided to make contact with the girl, whom all the others considered unworthy of any attention or questions. She may know less than the others, but she is ready to speak for everyone.

"What do you know?" Romanoff asks the girl.

"I know, I know..." the girl babbles in fear, "I know the way, I took the colonel to that bunker before. Twice, I can tell you, but don't kill me. It's only three hours from here... please."

"Good chance," Daria remarks, looking for support from Natasha.

"We can't risk the mission," Larissa continues to stand her ground, "and without Karpova we can't get to the secret facility."

"I don't understand everything she said," I decide to do my part, "but is this bunker an anti-nuclear shelter about a hundred miles northwest of here?"

Without further ado, Romanoff turns the question over to the maiden, acting as an interpreter, to which she receives in response the fervent assurance of the correctness of my hunch.

"Do you know something about this place?" Natasha asks.

"I saw it on the list of formerly frozen assets of Hydra. I gave that data to Fury. It looks like they've set up a secret lair at the base of an abandoned Soviet Cold War-era bomb shelter." Unfortunately, I can't recall anything related to this place from the history of the past world. There were a lot of declassified objects of Hydra, including on the territory of Russia, but I wasn't interested in this information, because it was the history, who knew, that I had to become a part of it myself... "This place, it's necessary to check it. I'm sure there's something important there."

"We can't risk the target like that," Larissa persists, and in principle, I agree with her.

"Hey, does Quinjet have scanning equipment?" I ask. "It's a matter of ten minutes to compile a matrix of Karpova and her guard's appearance."

"And the driver?" With interest in her voice, Natasha clarifies.

"I have only two nanomasks with me. For myself and a reserve. Daria's wounded, so we'll leave her to guard the target, and the three of us will infiltrate the base, you and Larissa will put on masks, and I... I don't know, I can pretend to be the trainee driver."

"Guys don't get drafted," Romanoff immediately notes the flaw, "but it's a good plan. You sit in the back with me, if anything, say you're a guest from America, flew in with Karpova ... I think her authority should be enough to get you inside."

"You're not serious, are you?" wonders Larissa, "Shit! Their idea," she nods to Daria and me, "and it's up to me to get into the thick of it."

"I'd be happy to swap," Daria says immediately.

"I'll decide who goes on the mission. Besides, one of you will have to take on the role of driver. There's our bird," Quinjet hovered over the treetops after deactivating his cloak.

As soon as the plan of action was formed, everyone, even the disgruntled Larissa, began to act without delay. While Romanoff and I, who turned out to be very technically savvy, were making new matrices for the nanomasks and finding out from the driver the exact location of the bunker, Larissa and Daria were covering up all traces of the accident on the road - getting rid of the used SUV and removing traces of the gunfire from Karpova's car.

"Aren't you afraid of exposing your face?" Romanoff teases me when the mask for penetration is ready.

I couldn't portray Karpova or her demonic guard if I wanted to - a face isn't enough here - both women are gifted by nature to the fullest.

"It's only needed to keep the Apostles out of my family's attention. Once they're finished with me, I'll go back to my normal life as Peter Parker."

"It will raise questions, you know," she's obviously referring to the interest of the police and other official agencies in case I return after that incident at school.

"And I'm already contemplating answers."

Finished with the preparations, we go back down to earth, literally, because Quinjet couldn't land in such uncomfortable terrain.

"How is your Russian?" Natasha asks her subordinates.

"As a native," Daria says without hesitation with smugness, she is clearly proud of her knowledge of the language, "I was the best at the Academy."

"It's been twenty-five years in the States, since I was a child," Larissa admits, "Now I have an American accent."

"Say something," Natasha orders, and the agents obediently say a couple of quick phrases, from which the Russian spy wrinkles as if she tasted a lemon.

"Your Russian sucks," Romanoff throws back, "any village would recognize you as spies."

Daria looks unhappy, but dares not object to the commander. I realize that my limited knowledge of the language, obtained after awakening from cryosleep - at the time it was a strange mixture of English, Chinese and Russian - is clearly not enough. I could barely understand the general meaning of half a third of the phrases. In addition to knowing the words, there are difficulties of perception- different tenses, intonation, and accents.

"Parker?" Romanoff turns his attention back to me, "What about you?"

"Um... vodka, Putin?" I decide to demonstrate my skills, on which I get another heavy sigh from the Russian spy.

"You take the driver's seat," she says to Larissa, "do not make contact with the locals, keep in touch with Quinjet, let them be on standby in camouflage mode."

"Get it," the spy does not even try to hide her reluctance to get into the thick of it.

"You," he says, turning to Daria, "are the guard. You sit in the front, and talk only in emergencies. I'll take the part of Karpova, Peter is a guest from America. Flick your eyes, wiggle your head, act like a guy visiting Russia for the first time."

"It won't be hard."