The Groznyj Grad Living Novel

"Sure," Kassian murmured. "I'm going to call Ocelot now. Be careful."

He cut the connection before he would be tempted to say more, and immediately slotted Ocelot's frequency. Imanov had indicated earlier that he hadn't wanted to bother the Major about anything trivial, but something like this hardly qualified as such.

Another death. Ocelot wasn't going to be happy, either.

It occurred to Kassian even as he called that Imanov should have been the one doing this, but since Liadov had asked him personally, Kassian felt like he had an excuse not to have made Imanov his first official call.

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Ocelot didn't want to answer the CODEC hailing.

He really, really didn't.

He was...busy. Indisposed.

But fuck...he had to. Had to. Had to.

...now.

"What is it, Imanov?" he snapped. "This had better be a matter of life and death."

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...that was twice now. Imanov should be flattered.

Kassian winced at Ocelot's tone. He'd called that one, all right.

"It's Irinarhov, Major," he said, immediately. Hesitating would only make it worse. "There's been another murder."

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"Irinarhov," he said vaguely. "Oh."

A pause.

"What?"

Ocelot's expression must have said it all to his company.

He put his finger to his lips, although he was pretty sure the Captain had heard the sudden and questioning whisper.

"Put your clothes on," he hissed, aside, in an undertone. "No, it's..not that. We'll...later, all right? We have a problem."

He scowled, rubbing his temple, then he heard breathing.

He'd forgotten the sniper, as soon as he'd remembered him.

"...Irinarhov. Are you there?"

Of course he was. He hadn't been dismissed.

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Kassian cleared his throat, quietly.

"...yes, Major," he said.

He kept his tone neutral. He didn't even think about what he'd just heard, but instead concentrated on something else - a faint buzzing sound, like insects hitting the floodlights. The distant bark of a dog. A ledge over on that building that could conceal a sniper.

Anything else, he carefully filed under not-my-business.

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"Right," sighed Ocelot. "Good. Hold your position. I'm on my way."

He paused.

"Are the MENTS all right? Wait, no. Don't hold your position. Wait with them. They're in the temporary lab?"

He was shoving his telnyashka into his pants and buckling his belt as he spoke.

Adam knew his face was flushed slightly red, but ignored it.

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"Yes, Major," he said.

It covered both questions, and the order, but Kassian decided to wait for the end of the conversation before breaking cover, just to make sure Ocelot didn't change his mind again.

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"Good."

Ocelot nodded, looping his gun belt and shoulder strap over his jacket. Gritting his teeth and ignoring the highly unresolved tension in his southern cross.

"I'll be there before you get Imanov's bra off."

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Kassian's face contorted, and he had to pause long enough to get that image out of his mind.

"...right," he said. "Understood, Major."

He cut the connection, really not wanting to give Ocelot the chance to continue. Instead, he called up Imanov's frequency and filled him in. Their discussion was terse, but definitive: Imanov would continue to cover the outbuilding while Kassian went inside.

Taking another careful look around the surrounding area, Kassian slowly lowered his rifle and slung it around his shoulder.

He picked up Liadov's MVD badge and slipped it into his pocket before taking a low, stealthy approach to the door, knocking once, then slipping inside.

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Liadov glanced up at the sound of knocking, once removed from the actual lab. The door to the outbuilding led into an anteroom.

Rakitin, who had been fixedly concentrating on something Nika couldn't ascertain, looked up, startled.

"Don't worry," Liadov said. "Murderers don't bother knocking."

He was vindicated as the door swung open and Irinarhov poked his face in, pulling of his balaclava, looking like an artfully grizzled war hero should. His expression was one of question and caution.

Liadov nodded to him to come in.

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Kassian nodded to the investigators in turn, but then shot his gaze around the room, briefly assessing its defensibility. No windows, which was a plus, as far as he was concerned. Only lab tables and equipment. He walked the room's perimeter, even though he doubted there would be anyone lurking within.

His inspection took less than a minute. When Kassian was satisfied, he returned to the spot where he'd entered, as if he'd just stepped inside.

"Major Ocelot is on his way," he told the pair of investigators, but his gaze was drawn by what looked like a dismembered foot sitting in a metal pan.

He stared at it, grimly, unflinchingly. He'd seen severed limbs before. It was easier to think of them as just parts, and not as having been attached to anyone prior.

Finally, he dropped his gaze as he stuffed his balaclava in his pocket.

His fingers encountered something hard and he frowned, then pulled it out.

Liadov's badge.

Kassian used his sleeve to clean off a few bits of muddy dirt that still clung to the back from when he'd let it hit the ground after Liadov had tossed it.

"Here," he said, when it was clean. He held it out, offering it back to the MENT. "Sorry about that, Major."

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Nika took his ID back without looking at it, putting it in his breast pocket.

He felt it slide over the laminated surface of another ID, and settle into place where it belonged. There was a certain satisfaction in that action.

"You didn't need it. Good."

It was a last resort, pulling cross-bureau rank, but he'd been willing to do it under the circumstances.

Better not to, if it could be avoided.

Not that it always caused strife, but occasionally such manuevers were interpreted as a threat. Liadov preferred that the systems-in-situ not think of him as a interloping outside authority, but rather that they perceive him as an ally. He could still effect the things he required using their channels, for the most part.

Liadov reached for the organ scale and tapped it idly with a finger, watching it respond and dip.

"So there was an Ocelot to be found. What was his reaction, if I may ask?"

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Kassian paused before answering, trying to balance his loyalties.

On one hand, Ocelot's...personal business...was no one's business, but on the other hand, Liadov seemed to make everyone's personal business his own. He'd asked Kassian some fairly shocking questions at his interrogation, probably hoping to provoke an emotionally honest response.

Even now, Kassian understood what Liadov was doing - in lieu of talking to Ocelot himself, he wanted to use Kassian as his barometer, instead.

"He was startled," Kassian said. "But he recovered quickly. He wasn't happy about the news but wanted me to make sure that the two of you were all right."

He cocked his head suddenly, then held up a gloved hand to his ear, shooting an apologetic glance toward Liadov. His CODEC was buzzing.

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ilya-imanov.livejournal.com

Ilya listened, trying to piece together the conversation.

This wasn't a good idea, in hindsight. Irinarhov was out of his sight, and now open. Should there be an effective assassin, there were now three targets, not two.

Ilya was better at close-quarters than any sniper could be, he was certain of it.

"How long are they going to be?" He asked quietly over Codec, out of force of habit.

He wanted them somewhere more secure, ASAP.

And that other scrap of news... body count up to two.

He felt a swooping sensation in his stomach, hoping with every fibre in his body it was not a brother of his.

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"Ocelot's coming here," Kassian replied to Imanov. "It sounded like after that, he wanted to move them."

He paused, Ocelot's last words surfacing to mind unfortunately.

Kassian frowned.

"He said it should be shortly."

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Ocelot pinged in on CODEC impatiently. He was unable to get ahold of Imanov, so he turned to Irinarhov's frequency.

The sniper picked up after a couple of moments, interrupting his other call.

"I'm outside," he said, without preamble, cutting off any salutations, no matter how brief.

Ocelot was watching a figure, unmistakable in beige non-flammables. His eyes narrowed as the figure threaded its way toward the makeshift laboratory.

"There's a Flame Patrol specialist staking out the building- As. I . Speak," he hissed. "Where the hell is Imanov? Did he miss this?'

He quietly trained his Makarov in he darkness.

The man had made no threatening movements so far, but he knew the stealthy way he moved indicated he was on a mission, and it only took a scant few seconds to press a wad of C4 to the side of a military shack and blow it into oblivion.

"He's right outside the door. I suggest you check his advances, Captain."

Ocelot tilted his head, narrowing his eyes.

Something...was not right about this soldier. The bulky flame suit...still...

If he could grab hold of the man, he could be sure.

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"Understood, Major."

Even as he subvocalized, Kassian was already in action, moving toward the door.

He glanced quickly behind him.

"Down!" he hissed at Liadov and Rakitin, and swept his arm toward one of the lab tables. "Behind that table, now! Flame Patrol's outside."

The situation called for the exact reversal of a sniper's instinct - instead of cradling his Mosin-Nagant, waiting for the enemy to come to him, holding for the perfect shot, Kassian reached behind him and pulled his Makarov.

Unlike most of his fellow Ocelots, Kassian didn't wear his sidearm at his hip. Long ago, he'd found it to be unfavorable when he positioned himself for sniping. In a crouch, when he was lying in wait, the holster dug into his thigh.

Instead, he wore the handgun at the small of his back, canted to the right, nestled far more comfortably there, close against his spine.

Kassian was no Major Ocelot, but he'd made sure the gun sat just right to facilitate the quickest draw possible.

The long-barreled Mosin-Nagant was simply too impractical for close-quarters fighting. When it came to a situation like this, he had to rely on the handgun.

He knew how he had to handle this. Kassian ducked through the door into the anteroom without hesitation, even though instinct would have him wait. But all the Flame Patrol soldier would need to do is to step through the door, throw grenades, and the resulting hail of shrapnel combined with the compact space would take care of anyone inside.

No. Flame Patrol couldn't be allowed to step foot into the laboratory.

Kassian threw the outer door open and slipped outside, relying on Ocelot, wherever he was, to provide cover.

He swept his gaze, taking in his surroundings instantly.

There, to his left, the beige-jumpsuited Flame Patrol soldier stood just meters away.

"Don't do it! Freeze!" Kassian barked, leveling his gun two-handed, Makarov raised instinctively: not at the soldier's chest, but at his cerebellum.

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Ippolit watched the dark, weather-worn man with interest. He seemed different from the other Ocelots. Older, obviously, and near to the first non-blond man the investigators had encountered, but also with a different energy surrounding him - the brink of potential, rather than kinetic. From time to time, his gaze unfocused, as though speaking to someone suspended in the ether. He seemed familiar, somehow, in a way that Rakitin couldn't place. He must have been nearby, to have arrived so soon, but, besides the knocking and a few words, he made no sound at all.

Logic presented an obvious cause.

As soon as Ippolit had come to his conclusion, the Ocelot soldier hissed at them to take cover. rakitin obeyed with alacrity. People like this always showed up for a reason, and it was never wise to take anything they said lightly.

Flame Patrol, he said.

Sparks flared in Rakitin's bloodstream. It was too soon. He'd made no preparations, and he categorically refused to let his anger provoke him to invite disaster. He would watch. And if he saw his chance, well....he would worry about it when it came.

From beneath the table, Rakitin watched the Ocelot soldier approach the door, sidearm drawn.

"Proactive, for a ghost," Ippolit murmured to Nika. It was rare for a spirit to take such an ardent interest in the corporeal beings occupying its abode.

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It was the first thing Rakitin had said in half an hour, and it made absolutely no sense.

Under the composite lab table, Nika turned his head with an incredulous and withering look of utter incomprehension.

"..What?"

His expression shifted abruptly.

"You're not still eating those mushrooms," he accused.

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A certain quality to the tone made Ippolit abandon his observation of the soldier spirit momentarily. Liadov was looking at him as though Rakitin had just handed him a live armadillo.

Every time he thought they'd reached a tentative understanding, Liadov made no sense at all.

"No," Ippolit said, puzzled but honest. The effect of the glowing mushroom had worn off after a good night's sleep, with the only lingering effect being occasionally thinking in colors that he was fairly certain weren't supposed to be in the visible spectrum. He'd made a mental note to be more careful about accepting food from homical maniacs with gasmasks. "It's more or less expected that an soldier's spirit in unrest settle in a place like this. This is unusual behavior, that's all."

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"...You think Captain Irinarhov is a ghost?"

Nika stared, then he started laughing, despite the gravity of the situation.

"Believe me, Irinarhov is all too real."

He snorted, shaking his head, patting Rakitin on the shoulder and giving it a squeeze.

"I should know," he said. "I almost sent him to the Gulags."

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"Oh," Ippolit said, a little crestfallen. He was so sure he had been feeling a strange outer energy coming from around here somewhere. His senses must be off.

He nearly jumped at the unexpected contact when Liadov patted his shoulder, and almost missed the significance of his words.

"You did?" Ippolit looked at Liadov curiously. It was difficult to adjust his thinking of the preternaturally silent soldier to prosaic physical terms. "He doesn't seem to be holding a grudge."

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"It was a troika. A panel. I was the dissenter," murmured Liadov, distractedly, trying to listen for any clue of what was happening outside the lab. "I spared him the trip."

He shrugged.

"And now he's guarding my life. Ironic, isn't it?"

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"I see," Rakitin said.

He stared out through the open door. He hadn't heard gunshots or a fwoosh. That had to be a good sign.

"Funny, how the past comes back to haunt us."

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Nika turned his head at the choice of words.

"...He's not a ghost, Polya. Young Pioneers' honor."

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"I believe you, I believe you," Rakitin said. "Poor phrasing."

He relaxed somewhat. There was the sound of faint conversation from the hallway, something that as far as he knew rarely existed concurrent with someone being set on fire.

"What's going on out there?" Ippolit wondered. "He's late."

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"This is ludicrous," said Liadov, finally, sighing. "I'm getting up."

He glanced at Rakitin.

"You can stay down there if you want. But no one's coming in here. Iriarhov would have gone down by now, and he wouldn't have gone down without a hail of gunfire."

He glanced at the table.

"I say we get back to work. You said there were some tiny fragments of rock that you brushed off the limbs. I wonder...might it be consistent with the surrounding rock outcrops?"

He shrugged.

"Any lead you can give us- fibers, hairs. It would narrow down the search to either on base or off."

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"Might as well," Ippolit said, getting up. If something got past their guardian sp-- sniper, there wasn't much chance the flimsy lab table would stand up to them, though it would certainly try.

He transferred one of the rock fragments to a petri dish and examined it beneath the microscope.

"Basalt. It could have come from the caves near here."

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krasnogorje.livejournal.com

“Wait, stop! Don’t shoot...!”

She raised her hands instinctively, a reactive gesture of surrender with the feeble intention of blocking any projectiles that may come her direction. But there was no gunshot, only the surge of adrenaline that made the woman want to throw up, and deafening silence.

“Don’t shoot, I’m unarmed. I only came to talk, the Fury said the investigators wanted to talk with me, that’s all…” She caught herself and stopped suddenly, her voice cracking.

No one had ever held a gun to her head before; she had never seen a pistol from that grotesque angle.

Slowly, deliberately, Pasiphaë lifted her goggles, staring down the barrel of the Makarov. “No flamethrowers. No grenades. Just something about the night the greenhouse burned…ask them, for fucks sake before you put a bullet in my head!”

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A woman.

Kassian was surprised, but he didn't drop his guard. Some of the deadliest soldiers he had known during the war were women. They were easy to underestimate. He had the experience to know not to do so.

"Stop!" he ordered, when he saw her hands dip briefly toward her face. "Keep your hands where I can see them, and don't make any sudden moves."

Kassian's voice was pitched hard, unyielding.

He watched the woman, gaze obsidian, making sure she complied. All he needed to do was hold her here until Ocelot arrived.

Which he would shortly, Kassian knew, since the Major was nearby. Maybe even Imanov had heard the disturbance.

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Ocelot came at a half-run, head up, smirking as he drew up on his heels, twirling his gun.

"I knew it," he crowed darkly. "I knew there was something about you."

His eyes roamed over the shapeless flamesuit.

"Guess I don't have to pat you down now. Unless you want me to."

He turned to the sniper.

"Good job, Captain. Take her inside. We'll ask the MENTS if she's being straight with us."

He shook his head at the woman and ticked his finger theatrically.

"If you are telling the truth, didn't your commander mention that the MVD officers are under 24 hour armed guard?"

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"With all due respect, you should pat her down anyway, Major," Kassian offered.

The jumpsuit she wore could easily conceal a small weapon, like a knife or a handgun. Once within Liadov's proximity, she could draw it and lunge forward, or fire.

That was, of course, if the woman was truly some sort of suicide-minded assassin, which was unlikely, but then again, it was also unlikely that there would be a female soldier in an outfit whose other members consisted of men with histories of violence toward women.

Still, Kassian wasn't taking any chances.

"Lace your fingers together and put them on the back of your head," Kassian told the woman, pistol still aimed precisely.

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Ocelot made a face.

No one could ever accuse Irinarhov of not being pragmatic. Or of lacking tact. Adamska was aware that there were other reasons for patting down people than merely verifying gender. They just weren't on the top of his list.

He drew his gun.

"No," he said. "You do it."

He grimaced. Groping women had never been a favorite past-time. Finding yielding, sugary mounds where you expected the firm rise of a pectoral was disconcerting, to say the least.

"She's your collar," Ocelot added, for conviction's sake.

He narrowed his eyes.

"I'll keep my gun on her."

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Kassian's jaw tightened, and he leveled a glare in Ocelot's direction.

He didn't care, at that moment, that Ocelot was his CO, and that his orders needed to be obeyed stoically.

At least the reasonable ones.

And outwardly, there was nothing unreasonable about being ordered to search a prisoner for weapons.

But ever since Berlin, Kassian had a hard time stomaching anything that even vaguely resembled unwanted advances toward a woman. The memories of what he'd witnessed there were indelibly inscribed across his soul.

Slowly, reluctantly, he put his gun away. He approached the prisoner, making sure to stay out of Ocelot's line of fire.

Kassian looked at the woman for a moment, jaw still tight, meeting her eyes briefly.

"Sorry," he muttered, only for her ears, quietly enough so even Ocelot couldn't overhear.

It wasn't appropriate to speak to a prisoner in such a manner, to give the enemy any quarter, but if this woman was only reporting for her interview as she claimed, she didn't deserve to be groped.

He averted his gaze.

Kassian conducted the search as clinically as possible, patting the woman down for any hidden weapons.

He was sure not to linger on any private areas, though at the same time, he made certain his search was thorough enough to catch concealed weapons in the likely places where they were hidden.

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krasnogorje.livejournal.com

There was something in his dark eyes that was honest: kindness, even for a perceived enemy, and his hands didn’t linger. Business, not pleasure.

Kassian’s mumbled apology made her hate him less for the search, a necessary evil.

She scowled, pressing her eyes shut and doing her best to ignore the foreign hands roaming her body. Recoiling and fighting back was a natural reaction in a unit full of lady killers, an instinct that took quite a bit of concentration to ignore.

This, though, was more awkward and uncomfortable than anything. It made her squirm in her own skin.

By the time Kassian had finished, initial terror blossomed into anger fueled by adrenaline.

“My commander told me everything,” the woman hissed at Ocelot. “which is why I came unarmed. Otherwise, both of you would be a pile of smoldering cinders right now.”

Pasiphaë flinched away from Irinarhov finally, growing tired of the searching. “Enough!" She snapped at last. "This is rediculous."

Pointedly, she motioned to the radio that hung from her belt in place of a pistol. There was no need for such a frivolous weapon, when the standard fare was flamethrowers and grenade launchers. “If you still don’t believe me, ask the Fury.”

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Kassian felt relieved when the woman pulled away. She seemed as uncomfortable as he was, and he felt badly for that.

He got the impression she hadn't been a soldier long. Something about the desperation in her voice when he'd leveled his gun.

Kassian took a step back himself, shoulders twitching to shrug off the lingering discomfort, then glanced at Ocelot.

"She's clean, Major," he said, briefly. "I'll take her in to see Liadov."

He paused, waiting to see if Ocelot had anything else to say, either orders for Kassian, or a reply to the woman's words.

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"Fine by me," snorted Ocelot. "Liadov can have her."

What a hellcat.

"It's just protocol," he told her, rolling his eyes.

He frowned.

"We'll need to organize a night search. It will take some time. Major Raikov and I will pool our ranks, and you can rejoin us later once this woman is done with whatever she came for."

Ocelot frowned.

"You can guard the MENTS in the field. They'll want to be in on this, I feel sure."

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"Yes, Major."

Kassian turned, and gestured for the woman to precede him. "Let's go."

As they walked back to the lab, he glanced at her again.

The woman's hair was short and dark, but cut unevenly, and spiked out in different directions. Her eyes were large; doll's eyes in a delicate doll face, like the broken porcelain countenance of a child's toy he'd found once, in the ruins of Stalingrad, back during the war.

At the time, it had been a salient reminder that mere months before, Stalingrad had been a city of everyday people with everyday lives, and a child had once clutched her precious, expensive plaything in the very building he'd nested in, oblivious of what was to come.

The woman seemed young, probably younger than Isaev and Imanov. More like Charushkin's age, he thought.

She had threatened them, but now he read it more as bravado, the defiance of a cat who fluffed its fur to appear larger and more threatening at the approach of a dog.

"You always need to be armed," he told her in an undertone.

Kassian didn't know why he felt compelled to tell a member of the very unit that threatened his charges that she should carry more weaponry.

Because she was a woman, perhaps. Because she'd been frightened.

"No matter the circumstance. There's a killer out there. You know that, don't you?"

Yes, she knew that, Kassian thought after a moment. He remembered her from the night the greenhouse exploded. She'd been the one to haul the shell-shocked Major Krauss back to her commander.

Perhaps she wasn't as vulnerable as all that, then, but still, he wondered.

As they slipped through the outbuilding's outer door and into the small antechamber, Kassian reached out to put a hand on the inner door, to pause her.

He turned his head to meet her gaze, carefully.

"Do they hurt you?" he asked, quietly, dark eyes intent, brow pulled low by a frown. "Flame Patrol."

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krasnogorje.livejournal.com

“I remember you. You’re the sniper from before.” Pasiphaë tilted her head, studying Kassian in the dim light. “Yes, from the night we torched the greenhouse.” She smiled slightly at the realization, looking him over. Patient and intelligent, with dark eyes must have seen so much in their time, and it was all there, etched upon his countenance; weathered, but still kind.

She noticed it in his hands, when he searched her. Calloused, but still gentle. Hesitant, even. Apologetic.

“You seem like the sort of man who would spend his off shifts spoon feeding baby vultures with broken wings, because you couldn’t stand the thought of watching them die.”

The woman looked away for a moment, then back to the Irinarhov and his well-meaning curiosity. “I’ll be honest with you, because you seem genuine. That’s a rare quality around this place.”

She brushed a stray tendril of hair away from her face, tucking it back under her goggles. “First of all, you missed the knife that I carry. It’s not intended for the investigators, or you, or anyone in particular… but you’re right you know, a girl can never be to careful.”

Pasiphaë unzipped the front of her flame suit, pulling the sheathed knife out of the valley between her breasts and offering it to Kassian. Her eyes fell upon the phoenix, tooled into the brown leather sheath. “But you don’t have any reason to trust me.”

When she looked back up at him, she was smiling again, just a hint of a smile pulling at the corners of her lips. “I’m not as helpless as you may think. You ask if my own brothers hurt me…” The woman paused, as if considering the question for a moment, when in truth, she was considering just how much a stranger needed to know.

“Only once. Deimos tried, in the shower with a knife to my throat. I took it from him…stabbed him in the chest. Stabbed him with his own knife. He spent two weeks in the infirmary, I really thought I’d killed him. There was so much blood, all over the walls and the floor, spiraling down the drain. I really meant to.” She took a sudden interest in the floor. “But he lived, and he’s been nothing but kind to me since then. A brother in the flames. We reached an understanding.”

Again, Pasiphaë looked to Kassian, gauging his reaction to her morbid tale. There was no way to make him understand, and she didn’t know what compelled her to waste her time trying.

“Make no mistake about why I’m here. Some day, the torch will be passed on. Figuratively and literally.”

She shook her head, the offending tendril of hair escaped from under her goggles and trailed across her cheek. “The Fury will never see his mission completed in his lifetime, this world is full of too much evil. Someone will have to continue where he left off. That’s why the flame patrol exists, and in whatever incarnation it continues to exist in, it will always need a leader.”

The woman nodded, “and that’s why I’m here.”

Pasiphaë drew a deep breath. “Now, tell me… what did Major Ocelot mean when he said…a night search?” A slender eyebrow quirked as her mind worked to put together the puzzle.

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