"This is the Celtic Wanderer. Mayday! We're being pursued by unidentified pirates. Mayday, mayday, fuck!"
Clint Barton was the person in charge of the Celtic Wanderer. There were also several people aboard who had been hired by S.H.I.E.L.D.
He'd done something major, and he'd done it entirely because he trusted Fury:
He'd stolen cargo from a S.H.I.E.L.D. research vessel.
The cargo was sealed in special containers. Its temperature and pressure had to be kept constant, which meant it had to stay powered at all times. He'd also had to steal the cargo hold along with it.
In his career as an agent, this mission ranked among the most difficult.
Unfortunately, they'd managed to get the goods away, but they'd still left a trail-
[Fury: Clint, two frigates have left the fleet and are heading your way. Run!]
That was his last communication with Fury!
Two U.S. Navy frigates had left their naval base and were coming after them!
The Celtic Wanderer was a small cargo ship. After hearing the news, Clint immediately told his people to get moving. They dumped all unnecessary weight and sped south along the coast!
There was no satellite support for this voyage. They had to rely on a traditional compass and the faintly visible coastline to guide them. The feeling was nearly driving everyone aboard mad-
Clint made another round of calls over the radio, then picked up the water bottle on the table and shook it.
It was empty, and his lips were cracked and dry. They'd been spotted, and they'd fled in a hurry before they could even finish resupplying.
"Boss, are we really going to have someone meet us?"
The operator at the Control Console asked weakly.
"Yes." Clint answered without hesitation. He pretended to be confident and checked his watch. "Soon."