She saw a large, burly man in a plain down jacket walk in.
Big. Strong. Dangerous.
He was wearing a mask, so his face couldn't be seen clearly. What caught Natasha's attention even more was that he didn't place an order—instead, he walked straight toward her. Her guard instantly rose to its highest level.
On the surface, she remained calm, holding her coffee cup and gazing out the window. But from the corner of her eye, she kept track of him, her body subtly tensing, ready to strike at any mont.
The man seed not to notice her vigilance and simply sat down across from her.
Only then did Natasha feign mild surprise, turning to him and asking in Russian,
"Sir, I don't think I know you. There are plenty of empty seats here."
"I ca specifically to find you, Ms. Natasha Romanoff."
The man removed his mask, revealing Reacher's rugged face, and replied fluently in Russian.
Reacher spoke multiple languages. His mother was French, so he was fluent in French. During his service in the U.S. Army Military Police, he also mastered Spanish, German, Arabic, and Russian.
Hearing her real na spoken, Natasha's green eyes narrowed sharply, shock flooding her mind.
Outside missions, she always used aliases. Aside from a few people in the Red Room, no one should know her real na was Natasha Romanoff.
Had she been exposed?
In an instant, countless thoughts raced through her mind.
The man clearly wasn't Eastern European—he was a typical Westerner. A stranger like that appearing in Russia was already suspicious. His mannerisms and bearing clearly marked him as military.
Natasha quickly ford a guess but didn't voice it. Instead, she asked,
"Who are you?"
Her voice was slightly husky, yet pleasant.
"You can call Reacher."
Reacher was surprised. A battle-hardened soldier with keen observational skills, he was analyzing Natasha just as she analyzed him.
Though she appeared calm, Reacher could sense a dangerous aura emanating from her.
He was certain that any unnecessary movent on his part could trigger a swift and lethal attack from her.
This was unusual.
Not to brag, but Reacher knew his own abilities well. Gifted by nature and tempered through years of military service, his close-combat and killing techniques were extrely refined.
Unless it was his boss or soone like a mutant, very few people could make him feel this kind of danger.
And yet, this was coming from a woman.
Physically, won were generally at a disadvantage compared to n—strength, speed, reaction ti, body mass—all overwhelmingly in favor of n.
It was almost an insurmountable gap.
But with Natasha, that gap seed nonexistent. She was like a fierce, vigilant panther—ready at any mont to tear open his chest with her claws.
Because of Pierce—the insider mole—Reacher had full access to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s investigation files on Natasha.
Being able to train a woman like her showed just how deep the Red Room's foundations ran. No wonder the boss had taken an interest.
"Who do you represent? The FBI? CIA? DIA? Or the NSA?"
"I'm not with the governnt."
Reacher replied concisely, "Soone is currently carrying out an assassination mission targeting you."
He pulled a phone from his coat and placed it on the table in front of Natasha, gesturing for her to take a look.
Natasha frowned slightly.
She reached out and picked up the phone, though her attention didn't fully leave Reacher.
After unlocking it, the information displayed made her heart jolt.
Strategic Holand Intervention, Enforcent, and Logistics Division. Level 7 Agent: Clinton Francis Barton.
Detailed records. A list of classified missions he had carried out.
And then—her own file. Including everything about the Red Room.
That's right—Reacher had completely sold out S.H.I.E.L.D. just to gain Natasha's trust.
And it worked.
So classified operations had been covered up and disguised as accidents.
Natasha had heard of many of those "accidents." If those missions were real, then this man was undoubtedly one of the world's top agents.
Even she wasn't confident she could complete tasks of that level.
These weren't the kind of classified materials an ordinary person could obtain. Natasha now believed more than half of what Reacher had said.
The remaining doubt ca from her own ingrained vigilance.
She would never fully trust anyone.
Anyone.
That was how she protected herself.
"Who exactly are you people?"
Natasha handed the phone back and asked seriously as Reacher took it.
"People who can pull you out of the abyss. If you're willing, you can et my boss. You have three minutes to decide."
"I can et him now."
Natasha answered without hesitation.
She wasn't stupid. From the data Reacher showed her, the organization called the Strategic Holand Intervention, Enforcent and Logistics Division—even from just the fragnts she saw—displayed imnse power.
It shocked her.
A world-class organization, yet as a top Red Room agent, she had never even heard of it.
That alone proved how powerful it was.
If the data hadn't also included information about the Red Room—and even detailed intel on its leader, Dreykov—she might have thought the organization was fictional.
On top of that, they had easily tracked down her hidden identity.
This ant the force behind Reacher was equally vast and unfathomable.
Natasha had already been considering defecting from the Red Room. Reacher had pinpointed that exact weakness and used it as leverage.
It was a perfect match.
She had no reason to refuse.
The only concern was escaping one den of wolves only to fall into a tiger's lair.
But Natasha—worn down and tornted—was willing to take that gamble.
Getting her answer, Reacher nodded. "Follow ."
He stood up and led Natasha out of the café.
—
At the sa ti, Clint Barton, who had just arrived in St. Petersburg, received a report.
"Agent Hawkeye, the target has disappeared."
Clint: ???
Sitting in an ordinary local car parked by the roadside, Clint listened to the agents assisting from the Russian branch through his earpiece, utterly baffled.
"Disappeared?"
"Yes. We had been monitoring the target with beyond-line-of-sight surveillance, but about ten minutes ago, after she left her residence, all traces of her were deliberately erased."
"All pinhole caras were removed. The satellite signals we deployed in the area were tampered with. Our team tracked her last known location to a café."
Clint was stunned.
What the hell was this?
The mission hadn't even properly begun—and it was already over?
Even soone as composed as Hawkeye felt completely helpless at this point.
"Can you still track her?"
"We're mobilizing local resources. We believe we can locate her."
"Good. Do it quickly."
Hawkeye still trusted the capabilities of his organization—even in a country as massive as Russia.
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