10

Steve was trying to look like just another American tourist in a baseball cap and aviator sunglasses when he met Sam at the counter of a coffee shop across town from the blast site. “Did she tell you to stay out of it?” Sam asked. He was dressed the same way. Steve didn't answer, so Sam added, “Might have a point.”

“He'd do it for me,” Steve said.

“In 1945, maybe. I just want to make sure we consider all our options. People who shoot at you usually wind up shooting at me.”

Sharon joined them. “Tips have been pouring in since the footage went public. Everybody thinks the Winter Soldier goes to their gym. Most of it is noise, except for this.” She slid a folder over to Steve. “My boss expects a briefing, so . . . that's all the answer you're going to get.”

“Thank you.”

She dropped some money on the counter to cover their drinks. “And you're going to have to hurry. We have orders to shoot on sight.”

In a hotel room in Berlin, Zemo watched the news with the sound off. He had the red book open and was repeating the Winter Soldier command words. He wasn't a native Russian speaker, so he wanted to make sure that when the time came, he got them right.

There was a knock at the door. Quickly, Zemo hid the book and went to the door with one hand on his gun. “Herr Muller? Ich habe Ihr Frühstück.” (I have your breakfast.) It was room service.

He answered in German as he cracked open the door with a smile. “I could smell it before opening the door. Thank you.”

“Bacon and black coffee,” the hotel server said. “Again, I can fix you something different, if you like.”

“It's okay. This is wonderful.”

She was trained to bring the tray into a guest's room. “I'll put this on your—”

“No, no, no.” Zemo took the tray from her. “It's okay. I can manage. Don't worry.”

He thanked her and shut the door, relieved that she hadn't come in. There were things in this room that nobody could be permitted to see.

A thousand miles away, in Bucharest, Romania, Bucky Barnes was buying lunch at an open-air market. He had been on the run for two years, staying one step ahead of anyone who tried to find him. Bucharest was a good place to hide: big enough to blend in, but enough out of the way that he wouldn't accidentally run into someone he knew. Also, he spoke the language. He spoke a lot of languages. That had been part of his training. He remembered his training even though he didn't remember a lot of other things. He knew he was dangerous. He knew he had done some terrible things because terrible people had made him. He knew he didn't ever want to be controlled again.

He ate while he walked, with no special place to go. Nobody in the street paid him any attention, which was just the way he liked it. Suddenly, he got the feeling he was being watched. He had long ago learned to trust that feeling. Looking around, he saw a man in a street-side stall selling candy and magazines looking at him. Recognizing him. When the man saw Bucky looking back, he hung up a phone and disappeared.

Trying to keep his cool, Bucky walked up to the stall. There was a newspaper on the counter next to the cash register. He picked it up and saw his own picture under a headline claiming the Winter Soldier had set off a bomb at a huge government meeting in Vienna.

I didn't do that, Bucky thought. I wasn't in Vienna.

But someone thought he had. And that meant, sooner or later, they would track him to his apartment here in Bucharest.

Probably sooner.

Bucky got moving.