The Flying Dutchman answered her call.
The ghost ship—now 30 meters (98 ft) long—materialized without warning inside the room. It was far too large for the space; the mast, ram, stern, and most of the hull jutted straight through the walls and into the open air.
The sudden chill and the sound of crashing waves swept through the Kremlin's corridors, sending staff members to exchange bewildered glances in every direction. What was that? Where was that sound of waves breaking against the rocks coming from?
Beep beep beep— Machines screamed to life across the building. Alarms blared at multiple critical points. A powerful supernatural presence had breached the Kremlin.
Bella had no time to worry about that. A haunted Kremlin was still better than a Kremlin blown sky-high.
Her plan was to use the Flying Dutchman's hull to contain the explosives packed into the room. Even if they detonated, the blast would be sealed within the ship—and a ghost ship was remarkably resistant to that kind of punishment.
"Jason, get in front of me." Before she started, she made sure to position her meat shield.
Jason stepped in front of her without a word.
With him in place and her ice barrier ready, the creeping sense of danger she'd been feeling gradually faded. Even if the worst happened, the explosion wouldn't be enough to kill her.
"Materialize!" At her command, the Flying Dutchman dropped its ghost form and became solid.
The towering mast punched through two floors instantly, driving straight up into the third story.
The ram jutted out at a forty-five-degree angle, punching clean through the Kremlin's eastern tower wall. By now it wasn't just the building's staff who could see it—tourists over at Red Square were probably staring at it too.
Bella heard the alarms and the thunder of boots as soldiers came running from every direction.
She ignored it.
She channeled her psionic energy; frost bloomed across both hands as power built layer upon layer. When it reached its peak, she slammed it into the timer.
Then she pushed further, unleashing an ice storm inside the Flying Dutchman. Wave after wave of snowflakes wrapped around the explosives—coating them again and again, sealing them deeper with each pass. Temperature plummeted. Ice and frost crawled across the floor, the walls, everything.
Her magic even reached outward, pulling at Moscow's atmosphere. Storm clouds boiled overhead, heavy and oppressive, as though something enormous lurked behind them. A blizzard was coming to the city.
Bella kept pouring out psionic energy, with the timer as her primary focus. She froze it from the outside in, layer by layer, until it locked at twenty-five seconds remaining and went completely still.
"Phew..." She exhaled slowly. Her breath crystallized the instant it left her lips, scattering into glittering ice particles. The temperature inside had dropped to nearly -70°C (-94°F). Even Bella was struggling. Her resistance to the cold was exceptional, and she was tough—but nobody could stay in conditions like this indefinitely.
She was confident the explosives were neutralized. She sent the Flying Dutchman away.
The holes in the first and second floors, the damage to the tower wall and surrounding rooms—the Russians could sort it out themselves.
The massive block of ice left standing in the middle of the room was their problem too. They'd figure it out.
Whether they called in a disposal team or started hunting for clues was none of Bella's business.
The building was in total chaos. She didn't dare linger. She slipped into a bathroom, stripped off her stealth suit, changed back into her regular clothes, tucked Anton Vanko's blueprints safely away, touched up her disguise, and then blended into the mass of government workers being evacuated from the Kremlin.
Late that night, under cover provided by the Brotherhood, Bella left Russia and flew to Japan.
On the way, she called Natasha.
Not taking credit was something you did for strangers. For family, you absolutely had to share the news—and maybe earn a little praise while you were at it.
"Dear sister, this is already your third call tonight. What happens if Dad and Samantha get woken up?" Natasha's voice gave nothing away.
Bella had been a bundle of nerves back there with a room full of explosives. Now that she was out, the relief made her chatty.
"Those are our parents," she said cheerfully. "They won't blame you. Hehehehe."
"That laugh means you're up to something. I'm warning you, Isabella Swan—no flirting with women!... Fine. Tell me. Was that ancient sailing ship at the Kremlin your doing? What happened in there?"
When it came to actual business, Bella straightened up. She walked Natasha through the whole thing—the room full of explosives, the ice storm, the frozen timer.
Natasha listened, chewing her lip, while simultaneously working her S.H.I.E.L.D. channels to pull the latest intel.
It didn't take long for her to have something to share: "That Ethan Hunt you asked me to look into—he got arrested at the Kremlin."
Bella blinked in mild surprise. She'd genuinely forgotten about that guy. He'd completely slipped her mind, and she'd had no time to worry about some American spy during all of that.
With the Kremlin in full lockdown, Ethan Hunt getting caught wasn't exactly shocking. An American spy showing up in the same building as a mountain of explosives—that was complicated, but not inexplicable. That was a problem for politicians to sort out.
"Will this blow back on you?" Compared to a stranger like Ethan Hunt, she was far more concerned about Natasha. Her sister had been looking into him tonight; it wasn't hard to imagine that drawing some unwanted attention.
Hearing the warmth in Bella's voice, Natasha laughed—low and silky. "Something this minor is going to come back on me? You really underestimate me."
The call ended shortly after. Bella figured she was done for the night—three calls were plenty. She'd been running all day and she was exhausted.
The next morning, she traveled to Hokkaido, then took the Shinkansen down to Osaka.
She delivered the Arc Reactor blueprints to Anton Vanko.
The father-son pair had not been cooperative. According to Galina, they'd tried to run more than once, but the Brotherhood's surveillance was airtight and they had never found an opening. When it came to stealth and escape routes, Assassins were the professionals.
The Vankos couldn't slip away in Russia. Japan was even harder.
Scientists didn't have much leverage against an Assassin's blade—no amount of book smarts helped you there. Bella promised them new identities and fair compensation, and father and son reluctantly agreed to work for the Brotherhood.
Anton Vanko would handle the theoretical side. Ivan Vanko would take charge of mechanical engineering.
Brotherhood members Shaun Hastings and Rebecca Crane were both capable researchers who could serve as assistants—and keep a close eye on the pair at the same time.
Whether it was the Arc Reactor or the Animus, both projects would need time to get off the ground. The Vankos had been locked away for years; they needed to get back up to speed—reviewing the latest papers and research developments in their respective fields before they could do anything useful.
Bella also carved out time—under her "Daisy Johnson" cover identity—to sit down with the Brotherhood's key technical personnel. The Mentor title had a way of keeping people at a distance; for a long time, the Brotherhood had treated the Mentor more like a spiritual figurehead than a working colleague.
Bella knew her limits. She didn't have deep theoretical knowledge, and pure theory wasn't going to save the Brotherhood right now. She needed practical ideas. So she sought out Rebecca Crane—the Brotherhood's tech backbone—and spent several long, candid sessions talking things through with her.