Chapter 917

"The USB drive contains a Level Six tracking program. The moment we activate it, our location will be exposed."

After leaving the hospital, Captain America and Black Widow made their way to a computer store. No matter how capable the two of them were, they couldn’t exactly decrypt a USB drive by holding it in their mouths.

Unfortunately, using an actual computer came with its own risks.

The moment Natasha plugged in the drive and activated its contents, their location would be exposed. According to her calculations, they had approximately nine minutes before someone came looking for them.

Nine minutes.

A little tight, perhaps.

Though, honestly, the situation wasn’t nearly as dangerous as it should have been.

For all the resources HYDRA had poured into its grand plans, Pierce seemed to have overlooked a few rather important details. Surveillance cameras and facial recognition systems, for instance. Had he bothered investing in those technologies, two fugitives being hunted by the world’s largest intelligence organization wouldn’t have lasted nearly this long.

Unless they spent every waking moment crawling through sewers, Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff should have been caught already.

Still, they didn’t have time to complain about HYDRA’s questionable management decisions.

Especially since the USB drive was actively fighting them.

It contained an artificial intelligence protection program capable of continuously rewriting its own code and revoking Natasha’s attempts to access the files.

That was hardly surprising.

Nick Fury himself had failed to decrypt the drive using one of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s most sophisticated supercomputers. If Natasha could crack it with an ordinary laptop, someone in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s IT department would have some very uncomfortable questions to answer about their equipment budget.

Fortunately, Natasha had another idea.

If she couldn’t access the files directly, she could use a specialized tracking program to triangulate their source.

It was an ingenious workaround. Rather than breaking through the encryption, she would trace the information back to wherever it originated.

Whoever had developed the program was clearly an exceptional programmer.

The sort of person who could probably locate a needle in a haystack by tracking the needle’s Wi-Fi signal.

Honestly, people like that were terrifying. If you ever met one, the sensible response was probably to hire them immediately.

Or, failing that, keep them away from anything connected to the internet.

The program finally finished running.

New Jersey.

Steve stared at the location displayed on the screen.

He knew that place. More importantly, he had memories there that he would never forget.

Before he could say anything, a store employee approached their table.

This wasn’t an internet café. The two customers had been occupying one of the store’s computers for quite some time, and the employee probably wanted to see whether they intended to purchase anything.

He walked closer.

Then he noticed the man wearing a baseball cap and clear-framed glasses.

The employee stopped.

His eyes widened slightly, and he began making strange gestures toward Steve.

Steve’s heart skipped a beat.

Had he recognized him?

Being a wanted fugitive for S.H.I.E.L.D. certainly complicated matters. Perhaps a signed photograph and a quick handshake would be enough to keep the man quiet.

Then the employee finally spoke.

"I have a pair of glasses just like yours."

Steve blinked.

That was it?

Apparently, even Captain America wasn’t immune to the power of a decent disguise.

Take away the costume, shield, and dramatic entrance, and sometimes even a superhero was just another guy wearing glasses.

It was a useful reminder that disguises didn’t need to be particularly sophisticated. Sometimes, people simply saw what they expected to see.

Not that this helped them with their current problem.

Nine minutes passed.

Then a little more.

The moment Natasha finished her work, Steve pulled the USB drive from the computer. He and Natasha immediately turned away and headed for the exit.

Unfortunately, their pursuers had already arrived.

Steve moved through the crowd, casually scanning the people around him.

"Standard response team," he murmured. "Two behind us, two ahead, and another two closing in."

His battlefield instincts were as sharp as ever.

"If they recognize us, I’ll hold them off. Take the southern escalator down to the subway."

Natasha looked at him.

"Shut up. Put your arm around me and laugh."

Steve hesitated.

"Quickly!"

She clearly had no intention of following his plan.

Starting a fight in the middle of a crowded shopping mall would only confirm their identities and give the entire response team a reason to pursue them without restraint.

They needed to disappear into the crowd.

Steve reluctantly obeyed.

He slipped an arm around Natasha’s shoulders, leaned toward her, and lowered his head as though whispering something amusing into her ear.

Then he forced out a couple of awkward laughs.

The two agents approaching from the opposite direction walked right past them without a second glance.

Natasha didn’t even break stride.

This was why she was one of the world’s best spies. Infiltration, deception, and disappearing into hostile territory were practically routine for her.

Even with someone like Steve—who had considerably less experience pretending to be an ordinary civilian—she managed to make it look effortless.

Unfortunately, they weren’t the only ones watching.

Across the street, a black sedan sat parked opposite the shopping mall.

Inside it, a pair of eyes glowed with an unnatural green flame.

Peggy Carter stared through the windshield, watching Natasha move among the crowd.

Then she reached for the door handle.

"Okay. I’ve seen enough."

She was about to get out when someone beside her caught her arm.

"Perhaps we shouldn’t do that, Miss Carter?"

It was Sarah, Evenson’s little succubus companion.

Unlike her usual demonic appearance, she had taken on her ordinary human form for this operation.

Sarah was worried about Natasha too. She was looking forward to seeing her again, but she had no idea what was happening inside the mall.

And Peggy Carter was clearly about to make a very public entrance.

"I just don’t think starting a fight in the middle of a shopping mall is a good idea," Sarah explained quickly. "We might hurt innocent civilians."

A demon worrying about civilian casualties.

How unusual.

Sarah was beginning to realize that working alongside a Demon Hunter had done something deeply unpleasant to her nerves.

She was excited about seeing Natasha again. The prospect of accompanying her on another thrilling adventure sounded wonderful.

But why, exactly, had her unfortunate employer decided to pair her with a Demon Hunter?

Every time Peggy looked at her, Sarah felt as though someone had just opened a portal directly into the Twisting Nether beneath her feet.

"Noriko," she said, turning toward the woman sitting in the back seat. "Could you take care of this?"

Ashina Noriko looked up.

"You’ve already been seen by them. Once you’re finished, don’t come back here. Take the subway home."

"All right. Leave it to me."

Noriko had also abandoned her usual ninja attire. She was dressed in ordinary civilian clothes, with a pair of sunglasses completing the disguise.

She opened the car door and stepped outside.

A short distance away, a police cruiser was parked opposite the shopping mall.

Washington, D.C., was the nation’s capital. Security was already considerably tighter than in most American cities.

And following the recent assassination attempt against Nick Fury, things had become downright chaotic.

The firefight on the highway had made national headlines. The Washington police commissioner had spent the past two days receiving calls from people he absolutely could not afford to ignore.

Every five minutes, another powerful official was demanding answers.

What the hell was the police department doing?

If the commissioner couldn’t handle his responsibilities, he should resign immediately!

No excuses!

He held that position, so he was responsible for everything that happened under his watch.

It was practically enough to make a man wish he could blame gravity for his problems.

Under the circumstances, the police department had deployed nearly every available officer to reinforce security throughout the city.

Crowded public locations were receiving particular attention.

Which was why Noriko found a police cruiser parked right where she needed one.

She approached the driver’s side and knocked gently on the window.

Inside, a police detective was busy eating a doughnut.

It was a miserable assignment. His superiors had ordered officers to remain on duty around the clock, and there wasn’t even enough time to take a proper lunch break.

At this point, whatever food he could manage to shove into his mouth between patrols would have to suffice.

He glanced toward the window.

"Can I help you, ma’am?"

He set his doughnut aside, wiped his mouth, and lowered the window.

Then he saw Noriko’s smiling face.

His expression immediately softened.

Although people liked to claim that judging someone by appearances was wrong, practically everyone did it anyway.

A dangerous criminal, in the popular imagination, was supposed to look dangerous.

A hulking man with a shaved head, an unkempt beard, a face covered in ugly scars, and the sort of expression that suggested he had never told the truth in his entire life.

Ideally, he would also swear every other word and wear an eyepatch like a particularly unpleasant pirate.

Something about that image seemed a little questionable.

Regardless, Noriko looked nothing like anyone’s idea of a criminal.

She was petite, beautiful, neatly dressed, and carried herself with an air of quiet elegance.

At first glance, she looked about as threatening as a librarian asking someone to lower their voice.

"I actually do need your help, Officer."

She smiled warmly.

The detective straightened in his seat.

Well, this was certainly a pleasant development.

A beautiful woman needed his help. He was a police officer, after all. Helping people was part of the job.

And if she felt particularly grateful afterward, he certainly wouldn’t object.

Naturally, he was a professional. He wouldn’t accept money for his services.

Perhaps some other form of gratitude, though...

His imagination was already getting ahead of him.

Noriko’s slender hand rested against the edge of the window.

Then it moved.

A sharp chop struck the side of his neck before he could even register what was happening.

His eyes rolled back, and his head slumped forward.

Out cold.

Noriko glanced around to make sure nobody had noticed.

Satisfied, she reached inside, unlocked the door, and opened it. She carefully shifted the unconscious detective into the passenger seat before climbing behind the steering wheel.

Then she raised her right hand and formed an unfamiliar hand sign.

Pressing two fingers against her throat, she tapped twice and cleared her voice.

"Can I help you, ma’am?"

The voice that came out was identical to the detective’s.

Noriko picked up the radio.

"Dispatch, this is an emergency. We have an officer down. Repeat, an officer down. Terrorists spotted inside the shopping mall."

She paused, then continued in the same convincing voice.

"Eight suspects. Six white males, one white female, and one African-American male. All wearing black clothing and carrying weapons. They’re currently inside the shopping mall and may be planning to take hostages or carry out a terrorist attack. Requesting immediate backup!"

Inside the mall, Rumlow and his team were still searching.

So far, they had found nothing.

"No signal on this floor."

"Nothing on the third floor."

"Second floor is clear."

Rumlow pressed a hand against his earpiece.

"Search every section. Start from the bottom and work your way up!"

He turned toward the escalator, intending to check the next level himself.

Then a voice suddenly rang out.

"Don’t move! Get on the ground! Hands where we can see them!"

Rumlow stopped.

A dozen police officers had rushed into the area, their pistols trained directly on him.

The civilians nearby immediately scattered.

A few had initially been curious enough to watch, but there was a limit to how much entertainment people were willing to risk their lives for.

This was America, after all.

Nobody wanted to find out whether the heavily armed man in front of them was about to pull out a weapon and start shooting.

Rumlow stared at the officers.

What the hell was happening?

He glanced around, trying to understand the situation.

Then, by sheer coincidence, he spotted two familiar figures descending the escalator.

Natasha Romanoff.

And Captain America.

The two of them noticed him at almost exactly the same moment.

Natasha didn’t know why the police had suddenly surrounded Rumlow, but she wasn’t about to waste the opportunity.

She grabbed Steve and pulled him down, keeping her head lowered as they blended into the fleeing crowd.

Rumlow’s eyes widened.

"THEY’RE OVER THERE!"

He pointed toward the escalator.

For one brief moment, he considered charging after them.

Then he looked at the dozen guns aimed at his chest.

His feet stayed firmly planted.

He might have been one of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s finest field operatives, but he wasn’t bulletproof.

There was only so much a man could do when twelve people were pointing loaded weapons at him from a perfectly safe distance.

"Slowly get down on the ground!" the lead officer shouted. "Where are your accomplices?"

Rumlow’s teammates heard his shout and came rushing down from the upper floors.

They arrived just in time to see their commander surrounded by armed police officers.

Everyone stopped.

What?

Had their boss just been arrested?

"Don’t move!" the lead officer shouted again.

The approaching agents looked every bit as intimidating as the police had been expecting. Dressed in dark clothing and carrying themselves like heavily armed professionals, they certainly didn’t look like ordinary shoppers.

The officers immediately tightened their formation.

And then things got even worse.

A squad of SWAT officers stormed through the shopping mall entrance.

They wore black tactical gear and carried submachine guns.

After receiving a report of eight armed terrorists threatening a crowded public location, the dispatch center had evidently decided that sending ordinary patrol officers wasn’t going to be enough.

The tactical response team had been deployed.

Rumlow stared at them.

Wonderful.

Captain America was getting away, his team was surrounded, and now an entire SWAT squad had arrived.

Perhaps he should worry about surviving the next few minutes before thinking about anything else.

Slowly, he raised both hands.

"Everyone, calm down. This is a misunderstanding. We’re not your enemies!"

One of the African-American agents behind him immediately understood what Rumlow was trying to do.

Ah.

So they were going to reveal their identities.

Fortunately, although the team was dressed in civilian clothing, everyone still had their S.H.I.E.L.D. identification badges.

The agent reached toward his chest pocket.

He was going to pull out his credentials and shove them right in the officers’ faces.

Then perhaps these idiots would finally understand who they were dealing with.

Unfortunately, he had forgotten something rather important.

His current situation.

And his skin color.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Several gunshots erupted.

The agent jerked backward as bullets struck his body. He tumbled down the escalator, blood spreading across his clothes.

His hand remained trapped near his pocket.

"ID... ID..."

His voice faded.

Rumlow stared in disbelief.

"What the fuck?!"

Were these people even police officers?

Why were they copying S.H.I.E.L.D.’s worst habits?

They had just shot one of his men!

And what happened to all that talk about proper procedure and restraint?

Couldn’t they at least wait long enough to check his identification?

Of course, from the officers’ perspective, the situation looked rather different.

They had been told that eight armed terrorists were inside a crowded shopping mall.

They had encountered a group of suspicious men dressed in black, carrying weapons, and behaving like trained combatants.

Then one of them suddenly reached inside his clothing.

What exactly were they supposed to think?

If he had been white, perhaps someone might have hesitated for half a second.

But he was an African-American man reaching into his clothes while surrounded by armed police officers in the middle of an alleged terrorist incident.

The officers had reacted before he could finish explaining himself.

And now one of Rumlow’s men was bleeding on the escalator.

It was, without question, turning into a very bad day for everyone.