The helicopter hovered at the coordinates Melina had provided, John Wick's hands steady on the controls despite the turbulent air currents at this altitude. Above them, thick cloud cover stretched endlessly, gray and impenetrable, concealing whatever secrets lay within.
"Boss, we've reached the search area," John reported.
Smith gazed upward at the clouds, his senses picking up nothing visually distinctive. But the Red Room's aerial fortress had to be up there somewhere, hidden among the water vapor and thermal layers that made conventional detection nearly impossible.
Melina watched Smith move toward the open cargo door, wind howling through the gap with enough force to make conversation difficult. "Mr. Smith, how exactly do you plan to locate the base? The cloud cover alone, "
Smith turned back to the group. "Natasha, you're coming with me. Time to get your revenge."
Natasha stood without hesitation, moving to Smith's side. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, preparing to hang on like she had during the prison extraction.
Smith shook his head, this method lacked both dignity and aerodynamic efficiency. Instead, he scooped her up in a bridal carry, her weight negligible to his enhanced strength.
He looked back at John Wick. "Take the others down to ground level. Return for pickup after we've neutralized the threats."
"Understood, boss." John's expression remained impassive, though approval flickered in his eyes. "Good hunting."
Alexei leaned forward desperately. "Wait! I want to help! I can fight!"
Smith gave him an apologetic look, the Red Guardian's power weren't the issue, but bringing someone who couldn't fly would just create complications. Without further explanation, Smith launched through the open door, Natasha secure in his arms.
Alexei watched them disappear into the clouds, his face a mask of profound regret. This was the destruction of Dreykov, the dismantling of the Red Room, a historic moment that would reshape Russian intelligence operations, and he'd be sitting it out on the ground like a spectator.
How was he supposed to brag about this in the future? "I watched from a helicopter while someone else killed my greatest enemy" didn't have quite the heroic ring he'd hoped for.
Melina, meanwhile, studied the cloud layer where Smith had vanished, her analytical mind churning through impossible questions. What technology enabled human flight without visible propulsion? What enhancement procedure produced capabilities so far beyond conventional super-soldier formulas?
Smith activated the Scouter as he climbed through the cold, damp clouds. The device's display flickered to life, scanning the surrounding airspace for power signatures above baseline human levels.
Natasha clung to him, face pressed against his chest to avoid the worst of the wind resistance. Her mind wandered despite the circumstances, with a cape, Smith could pass for Superman. Add heat vision, and he'd be even better than the Man of Steel. Though who would be his Lois Lane? Pepper Potts seemed occupied with Tony...
Smith's attention remained fixed on the Scouter's readout, searching for the telltale cluster of enhanced signatures. Then, there. Multiple contacts, dozens of them, all registering above normal human baselines. The Red Room's Black Widows and enhanced security personnel, concentrated in a tight formation that could only mean one thing.
"Found you," Smith murmured.
"What?" Natasha lifted her head, blinking against the wind. They were surrounded by clouds, visibility maybe thirty feet. "Where is it?"
Smith didn't answer, simply adjusting his trajectory and accelerating. They burst through another cloud layer, and suddenly the fortress materialized before them like a ship emerging from fog.
The aerial platform stretched massive and impossible, a flying installation the size of multiple city blocks, held aloft through technology that defied easy explanation. Hanging gardens of cloud cover concealed it from below, while the structure's upper surfaces blended seamlessly with the sky. Landing platforms dotted the facility's perimeter, several with aircraft secured to them.
"Oh my God," Natasha breathed. "They actually built a fortress in the sky."
Smith's eyes scanned the installation tactically, identifying optimal entry points. He selected a landing platform that appeared less heavily monitored and dove toward it.
They touched down smoothly, Smith setting Natasha on her feet with practiced ease. "This is it. Go find your sister. I'll clear a path."
The massive security door between the landing platform and the base's interior stood sealed, reinforced steel designed to withstand explosive breaches and armed assault.
Smith walked toward it casually and kicked.
The door exploded inward, torn from its housing and sent tumbling down the corridor beyond with the screech of tortured metal. The entire frame buckled, leaving a gaping entrance into the Red Room's heart.
"That's... monstrous strength," Natasha said quietly, drawing her pistols with fluid efficiency. "Remind me never to make you angry."
She followed Smith through the destroyed entrance, weapons ready, every sense alert for threats.
In the monitoring room, a technician had been cycling through routine surveillance feeds when movement on Landing Platform Five caught his attention. Two figures, one male, one female, materializing from the clouds like ghosts.
"Suspicious individuals on Landing Platform Five," he reported immediately, finger already moving toward the alarm activation. "Repeat, suspicious individuals on Platform Five, "
The security door exploded inward on his screen.
He slammed the alarm button hard enough to hurt his hand.
Red emergency lighting blazed throughout the facility. Klaxons wailed their warning through every corridor and chamber. The speakers crackled to life with automated announcements:
"INTRUSION DETECTED. LANDING PLATFORM FIVE. INTRUSION DETECTED. LANDING PLATFORM FIVE."
Dreykov sat in his private office, sampling premium Russian vodka, the good stuff from before the USSR's collapse, aged to perfection. His daughter stood guard nearby, fully armored in the tactical exoskeleton he'd commissioned specifically for her protection.
The alarm's wail penetrated even his soundproofed sanctuary.
Dreykov set down his glass with deliberate calm and moved to his desk. He pressed his hand against a biometric scanner, and his office transformed, holographic displays materializing from hidden projectors, surrounding him with real-time intelligence feeds.
One screen showed the facility schematic. Landing Platform Five pulsed angry red, indicating breach.
He cycled to security camera footage, and there they were, two intruders already past the exterior defenses, moving deeper into his fortress.
His eyes locked on the female figure immediately. Recognition sparked, followed by predatory satisfaction. He touched her image, expanding her profile.
"Natasha Romanoff."
Dreykov's smile widened. "I never imagined you'd return voluntarily. What a delightful surprise."
He'd conditioned her years ago, embedded the pheromone-triggered loyalty programming deep in her neural pathways. Even if SHIELD thought they'd deprogrammed her, the base code remained. One whiff of his scent would reactivate her conditioning, make her unable to even consider harming him.
She'd walked into his trap believing herself free. The irony was exquisite.
Then Dreykov touched the male figure's image, expecting to see a SHIELD operative's profile, or perhaps a blank if they'd sent someone off-book.
The database populated immediately: Smith Doyle. Leader of the Fraternity.
Dreykov froze, his satisfaction evaporating into confusion. "How did they get involved?"
As former chief of Soviet intelligence, Dreykov knew about the Fraternity, had studied them during the Cold War when understanding Western covert organizations was his primary responsibility. An ancient society, over a thousand years old, operating by an archaic code that emphasized personal justice over strategic advantage.
He'd dismissed them as irrelevant to his operations. Their ideology was impractical, their methods outdated, their influence concentrated in criminal underworld affairs rather than espionage.
But their leader was here. In his fortress. With Natasha Romanoff.
Dreykov's mind raced through possibilities. How had they connected? What arrangement had brought the Fraternity and a defected Black Widow together? And more pressingly, how had they located his aerial base and reached it without triggering external detection?
He cycled through the landing platform footage again. No aircraft. No parachutes. They'd simply... appeared.
"No matter," Dreykov said finally, his confidence reasserting itself. "You've delivered yourself to me. Both of you."
Natasha would succumb to her conditioning the moment they met. And Smith Doyle? One surgical procedure, one neurological implant, and the Fraternity's leadership would belong to him. An entire ancient organization, with all its resources and contacts, acquired in a single operation.
Dreykov's daughter shifted slightly, her armor's servos whining softly.
"Prepare yourself," Dreykov told her. "We have guests to welcome. And gifts to claim."
He pulled up deployment protocols, began dispatching his Black Widows to intercept the intruders. Let them think they were advancing. Let them believe they had a chance.
By the time they reached his office, they'd understand the truth: No one escaped the Red Room.
No one.