S .T.R.I.K.E. team leader Brock Rumlow briefed Cap  and Natasha as they flew in a Quinjet over the Indian Ocean. “Target is a mobile satellite launch platform, the Lemurian Star . They were sending up their last payload when pirates took them, ninety-​three minutes ago.” Rumlow was working on a touch screen in the Quinjet’s passenger compartment. He showed the ship and then its location on the map, close to the Indian coast.

“Any demands?” Steve asked.

“Billion and a half.”

“Why so steep?”

“Because it’s S.H.I.E.L.D.’s,” Rumlow said.

That changed things. This wasn’t an ordinary hijacking. “So it’s not off course,” Steve said. “It’s trespassing.”

“I’m sure they have a good reason,” Natasha said.

“You know, I’m getting a little tired of being Fury’s janitor.”

“Relax. It’s not that complicated.”

“How many pirates?” Steve asked Rumlow.

“Twenty-​five. Top mercs led by this guy.” Rumlow pulled up a dossier on the screen. “Georges Batroc. Ex‑DGSE, Action Division. He’s at the top of Interpol’s Red Notice. Before the French demobilized him, he had thirty-​six kill missions. This guy’s got a rep for maximum casualties.”

“Hostages?”

“Oh, mostly techs. One officer. Jasper Sitwell.” A photo of Sitwell appeared on the screen. “They’re in the galley.”

Steve knew Jasper Sitwell. He wasn’t usually in the field. “What’s Sitwell doing on a launch ship?” he wondered aloud.

Steve considered the layout of the ship and the location of the galley where the hostages were. Everything seemed pretty straightforward. “All right, I’m gonna sweep the deck and find Batroc. Nat, you kill the engines and wait for instructions.” He looked at Rumlow. “Rumlow, you sweep aft, find the hostages, get them to the life-​pods, get them out. Let’s move.”

“S.T.R.I.K.E., you heard the cap,” Rumlow said. “Gear up.”

“Secure channel seven,” Steve said into his wrist mic, testing the frequency he would use on the operation.

“Seven secure,” Natasha echoed. “Did you do anything fun Saturday night?”

“Well, all the guys from my barbershop quartet are dead, so, no, not really.”

“Coming up on the drop zone, Cap,” Rumlow said from up front.

“You know, if you ask Kristen from Statistics out, she’d probably say yes,” Natasha said. Lately she’d started a campaign to get him to date more. Or at all.

Steve knew she was right about Kristen from Statistics. “That’s why I don’t ask,” he said. The Quinjet’s rear ramp opened up, exposing a stormy night sky.

“Too shy, or too scared?”

“Too busy!” Cap jumped out the back of the plane.

Rumlow and his second‑in‑command, Jack Rollins, saw Cap jump. “Was he wearing a parachute?” Rollins asked.

“No,” Rumlow said with an admiring smile. “No, he wasn’t.” W4RjEMXiPIFNEM2D+JdG6INrqhvsqmpFjvwliiEFUtocPPDl61MEE53PGZBvGQWj