The Ghost [Marvel | Steve Rogers]

Chapter 3

Her chest seemed to clench tighter, the feeling nearly painful as it felt like her ribs were bound to collapse under the strain.

The first thought that ran through her head was that this might be the first mission she would be unable to accomplish.

She knew she was good and got things done that no one else could supposedly do, but it was getting ridiculous. There were variables at play this time that meant this was likely going to be an even more unpredictable situation than she'd anticipated. And just about all her missions were little more than an unpredictable mess.

It was a risk inherent with the types of contracts she took; targets that were often continually on the move precisely because of who they were, with substantial resources and well-placed friends to back them up, who knew just as well as she did how to keep off the radar. It was a good thing she was just that little bit better. This mission had moved quickly; only a couple of weeks of study, surveillance and organizing. It was almost painfully easy, really. It had simply come down to waiting for opportunity. One past contract she'd taken had taken years of dead ends and false leads to track down the target. That had been a tough one, her target nearly as good as she was. Nearly. It certainly hadn't been easy to pull off, though.

But then, if hunting other assassins were easy, she wouldn't be the best and often only one capable and crazy enough to pull it off.

That's why she got to charge a heck of a premium for her services.

But this time...there were more factors at play. If possible, the tight feeling in her chest seemed to wind tighter still. Nadine's eyes slid shut. It had been a long time since the Red Room, but the lessons were so ingrained into her being, that there was no possibility of forgetting them. And she lived those lessons. She was cold and detached and ruthless. Brutal even. She had to be. Mercy for her marks was not an option. It was never even a consideration.

Yet this time... Her eyes snapped open, her inner Madame B coldly staring down her doubt and banishing it somewhere she hoped it would never surface from.

She couldn't afford to fail.

It was something she'd been reminding herself for months. Something she still had to remind herself.

She forced her mind to go blank save for what needed to be done, compartmentalizing herself the way she'd learned all those years ago to survive and succeed in the place that made her what she was.

She was The Ghost.

The Ghost did not fail.

The doubt didn't go as far away as she hoped.

Sighing heavily, she retreated from the office to her Workroom on the opposite side of her Workshop, unlocking and rolling up the interlocking paneled door. It was not so much a designated room, really, as a custom built, 16x8 storage unit-style section placed in the far corner of the Workshop with something approximating a bench on one long wall and a variety of racking on the other two.

After slipping a case out from beneath the workbench and propping it open on the polished metal surface, Nadine easily grabbed up everything she needed. But before she placed one of her custom Barrett rifles inside, old habits kicked in, as they always did, and she stripped, checked and reassembled the gun, making sure every component was in perfect working order. Then, opening her eyes, she stowed it safely in its case.

Once zipped and snapped shut, she was lifting it down and shutting up the Workroom. She was on a timetable and that required efficiency. Her target was expected to be in Prague for a very short window. She needed to be there and ready.

It was why she wasn't stopping at home tonight, either. Biting back a disappointed groan, she set the sleek black case next to the set of sprawling bulletin boards that held the research to her personal project and ducked into the office area again. Once inside, she snatched up one of the compact duffles she had lined up on one of the lower shelves from the unit she had covering the east wall.

Within moments she was out of her ballet mistress-appropriate wrap dress and was slipping into her uniform; a dove grey, sleeveless catsuit with matching knee-high tactical boots beneath an off-white, lightweight fitted tactical jacket complete with Kevlar fibres woven into the fabric. Grey fingerless gloves were slipped onto her hands while around her waist and hips went her utility belt with its compliment of compact weaponry, including the custom gun and multi-knife combination holster that sat in the small of her back, all of which she promptly ensured were secure.

Then, snatching up her little grey bag after snapping the cursed black phone in its spot on her wide belt, she slung it and the partially empty duffle over her shoulder as she abandoned the office and retrieved the dark case as she passed through her research area.

Then, with a final, frustrated swing at the practice dummy stowed off to the side of the open area of the Workshop, Nadine killed the lights and returned to the garage.

Popping open the trunk of the charcoal-coloured sedan next to where she parked her bike, she slipped the dark case and the duffle inside before turning and tucking the grey bag on the rack near the door into the Workshop. She didn't need it where she was going.

In moments she was pulling away from the warehouse, the sedan purring as she turned it toward Prague. If she was smart and lucky, she could manage make the normally three to four hour trip in two and a half to three hours.

Just over two hours minimum, during which time she had to convince herself yet again that she could take out one Natalia Alianovna Romanoff.

It was going to be a long few hours.

A/N: Thanks for reading!

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