I n the galley, the mercenaries were getting impatient. “I  told Batroc,” one of them said in French, “if we want to make S.H.I.E.L.D. pay us, start sending them bodies now!” He walked up and down the row of hostages. They were all sitting on the floor, hands and feet tied. “I have a bullet for someone....​You want a bullet in your head?” He kicked Jasper Sitwell’s foot. “Move that foot—​you want a bullet in the head?”

Sitwell just looked at him. He knew S.H.I.E.L.D. would have launched a rescue mission. It was only a matter of time.

Steve got to the lower level of the ship’s bridge tower and shot a small, sticky disk up to the bridge window. The disk contained a microphone that let him in on what the mercenaries were saying. “I don’t like waiting,” one of them was complaining in French.

“Call Durand,” another said. “I want this ship ready to move when the ransom comes.”

There was a pause, and Steve heard the first mercenary say, “Start the engines.” Then he hung up the phone.

Down in the engine room, the mercenary who had taken the call turned to get the engines started. He froze when he saw Natasha Romanoff, smiling at him. “Hey, sailor,” she said.

In the galley, the restless mercenary got sick of shouting at the hostages. “All right, I’ve waited long enough,” he announced, and pounded on the door. “Hey! Find Batroc. If I don’t hear anything in two minutes, I start killing them!”

“I’ll find him,” the mercenary outside called back.

But when he turned around, he walked right into Brock Rumlow’s Taser. He went down without a sound. The rest of the S.T.R.I.K.E. team waited with Rumlow for the order to go in.

Outside, Cap was watching the bridge and still listening in. He knew Batroc was up there when one of the mercenaries said, “Radio silence from S.H.I.E.L.D., Batroc.”

“S.T.R.I.K.E. in position,” Rumlow reported.

It was time to go in. “Natasha, what’s your status?” She didn’t answer. “Status, Natasha.”

“Hang on!” Natasha snapped. She was a little busy with the last three mercenaries in the engine room area. She took them out with a combination of unarmed strikes and electrical jolts from the stingers built into the wrists of her uniform. Then she got back to Steve. “Engine room secure.”

Inside the galley, the mercenaries got ready as the two minutes ran out. “Time is up,” the leader said. “Who dies first?” He pointed at a random agent. “You!”

Then there was a series of sharp cracks as the galley’s windows shattered by S.T.R.I.K.E. snipers hanging outside. The mercenaries all dropped. A split second later, the galley door blew off its hinges, and with a single shot, Brock Rumlow took out the leader who had started the two-​minute countdown.

He fell right in front of Jasper Sitwell, who looked at him and said, “I told you. S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn’t negotiate.” frZv0nCSH5O8Dzc0xEzaKFRFmAioJDp1iXh9JeBdj8EhpfCMgKj62EaTSQX1QgMo